Doppelgänger
by Tragediane
Summary: What if G Callen's nightmarish dream about chasing the elusive man in Human Traffic, Season 2-Episode 1 has nothing to do with his identity? What if that man actually exists and is alive and well and living in Los Angeles? AU at times. The sequel is called Nowhere Man.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

**Title: Doppelgänger**

**Rating: T**

**Story Premise: **What if G Callen's nightmarish dream about chasing the elusive man in Human Traffic, Season 2-Episode 1 has nothing to do with his identity? What if that man actually exists and is alive and well and living in Los Angeles? AU at times.

Doppelgänger takes place during Season 2 _and_ before the last episode called Familia. I got my story idea from two episodes, Season 1 Episode 23, Burned, in which G Callen's identity is burned by Eugene Keelson. Mr. Keelson's actions compromise all of NCIS. The other episode is Season 2 Episode 1, Human Traffic, in which G Callen has another of his recurring nightmares about chasing this elusive man. It is a story which is about G Callen and his unknown family.

**Category: **An angst/hurt/comfort/mystery/drama/family story.

**Slash Warning: **None

**Darkfic: **Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

**AU/AR Warning: **AU at times.

**Warning: **Major G Callen whump ahead.

**Disclaimer: **NCIS: Los Angeles and its characters are owned by CBS and the producers of it. I do not own anything, but if I did I would torture G Callen more and make him cry a lot. I am grateful to CBS and the producers of NCIS: LA for their contribution to the world of entertainment.

**My stories are a work of my imagination and I do **_**not**_** ascribe them to official story canon****.** This is a work intended for entertainment **outside the official storyline** owned by CBS and the producers of NCIS:LA. I gain no profit from the creation and publication of this story. I love to play in the sandbox with the characters and their lives. I especially love to torture G Callen. It is fun!

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

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><p><strong>Doppelgänger<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

On Monday morning, the team gathered in the bullpen, waiting for Eric's famous whistle.

Callen hadn't heard from Sam all weekend. As they left for work on Friday night, his partner didn't even ask him out to dinner. While it annoyed Callen, he'd never tell him. Yet, it was Sam's turn to treat.

"Either of you seen Sam?" Callen leaned on the front of his desk, arms crossed.

"No." Kensi sat in her chair.

"Not I," Deeks said.

"Strange, he's usually here on time."

"Didn't he ride in with you this morning?" Kensi asked.

"Never called me to arrange a ride."

Callen strode over to Hetty's desk. "You seen Sam?" he asked.

"No."

"Maybe he slept in."

"He's on an undercover ops since early Saturday morning," Hetty said.

"Why am I the last to hear about this?" Callen crossed his arms.

"Need to know basis."

He left her desk in a huff.

"Mr. Callen!"

He faced her.

"Don't turn your back on me when I'm talking to you."

Callen crossed his arms again, sighing loud.

"He needed to investigate something on his own and I allowed him to do it."

"Talk about being a team."

"Mr. Callen!"

"I'm sorry, Hetty, but how am I supposed to watch his back if he's off investigating something on his own."

"This isn't a dangerous ops."

It may not have been a dangerous ops, but Callen had a bad feeling about it. "Anyway to contact him?"

"Not at this time."

"Sucks." He plodded back to the bullpen and slumped down in his chair.

"Where's Sam?" Kensi asked.

"No idea," he said, a look of concern furrowed his brow. Sam could be anywhere and without backup. As much as Sam hated it when Callen went off on his own, Callen hated it more when Sam disappeared. What if something happened to him? His friendship and backup on undercover ops missions would be history. Callen relied on his partner's physical strength and prowess more than he cared to admit to anyone on the team. He shivered, pushing unpleasant thoughts and fears from his mind.

The loud shrill of Eric's whistle startled Callen. With a sudden adrenalin rush, he leaped off his chair and climbed the stairs to the OPS Center. Kensi and Deeks followed him. The team faced the huge video screen.

"What do you have for us, Eric?" Callen asked.

"Hetty's on her way to OPS."

"What?" Callen shot him a look.

"She told me to wait."

A few minutes later, Hetty entered the OPS Center. "We have a problem. Eric." She motioned to him.

When the video came up on screen, Callen's jaw dropped. An early morning shoot-out on N. Hope Street across from the Department of Water and Power Los Angeles's building filled the screen. He watched Sam shooting and dodging bullets and vehicles as he fled on foot to shelter himself in the shadow of the DWPLA building. Sam shooting at the police? What had he gotten himself into? Callen flipped on his heels and faced Hetty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Callen glared at her, head held high.

"I need to inform you all about Mr. Hanna's undercover ops." Hetty crossed the room and stood by Eric's side. "Please put up the rest."

A picture showed Sam dressed in black, wearing a hood which covered his face except for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Finally, a short video showed his partner carrying an AK-47 in one hand and a bag filled with cash in the other as he rushed out of the Bank of America on S. Flower Street in downtown Los Angeles with three other masked men. "Not a dangerous ops?" Callen asked. "This is crap."

"If you'll give me a chance I'll explain."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Sam infiltrated an ex-military group, who planned a bank heist."

"Infiltrated?"

"Yes, he used an alias."

"I hope a new one." All of Sam's current aliases were either blown or close to unusable.

"Of course, Mr. Callen, I wouldn't allow him to go on an ops without a new alias."

"With adequate backstopping?"

"Mr. Callen!"

"Sorry, Hetty, but you told me this was not a dangerous ops and I'm worried," he said. "My concern is heightened when I see my partner firing upon the police and hiding afterward. Are you sure he isn't compromised?"

"No." She sighed.

"What?"

"Sam was injured during the shoot-out."

"He called you?" he asked. "Maybe I should've asked you if he called." He glared at her. Sometimes Hetty could be evasive and it exasperated him. Hetty's former operatives from the CIA had nicknamed her the Duchess of Deception. At times like these, Callen agreed with them.

"I couldn't reveal any more to you until I knew his whereabouts," she said. "He's being treated at the Good Samaritan Hospital on Wilshire Boulevard."

He strode toward the doors.

"Mr. Callen, I haven't excused you yet."

"Hetty, I need to see him."

"He's in surgery."

"Surgery?" Callen's jaw dropped. "He was shot? Where?"

"Deeks and Kensi will drive you."

"I don't need babysitters, damn it."

"No, but you need your team."

"Are you going to tell me where he was shot?"

"No, now go."

This was one time he knew Hetty was peeved with his attitude. Callen felt he'd blow a lid if he didn't have answers soon. It was obvious Hetty wasn't going to be forthcoming. He strode out the door and started down the stairs.

"Mr. Callen, a word with you in my office before you leave."

He stopped on the landing, sighed, and glanced up to where she stood at the top of the stairs. In the bullpen, he grabbed his cell phone, badge, and weapon out of his desk drawer.

Hetty stood at her desk, motioning him with a curled finger to come over to her.

He hesitated as long as he could before entering her office area.

"Sit, Mr. Callen."

"No, and you're not keeping me off this ops."

"Need to, Mr. Callen, you're too close to this."

"Too close?" He crossed his arms, and swiped his lower lip with his tongue. "I'm not the one who went undercover and got shot."

"True, but you're his partner and you've got issues."

"What?" Callen glanced at her sideways.

"Issues."

"Of course I do, he's my partner—"

"You're tightly wound over this ops and you're not even involved."

"Damn it, he's my partner."

"Mr. Callen, it is a no, understood?"

"Hetty!" He held back what he really wanted to say to her: His partner, his investigation and this time she had no right to stop him.

"No, that's final."

"I suppose you're not telling me why?"

"On your way, Mr. Callen." Hetty shooed him away with her left hand and picked up her sharpened HB pencil with her right hand, pointing it toward the ceiling.

He knew what the gesture meant, don't even think of disobeying her orders. Callen remembered the last time he saw Hetty hold a sharpened pencil this way: He was removed from an ops which involved Eugene Keelson, the man who claimed to know things about his past which not even NCIS knew. Callen disobeyed her orders and she suspended him for a day. Maybe this time Hetty would suspend him for a week or more. He didn't need a suspension on top of the tumultuous turmoil inside him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Callen insisted on driving and told his team to not tell Hetty. They arrived at the hospital in record time. He managed to escape the speeding ticket trap without getting one. If he had, Hetty would've known he drove and he'd hear about it. He entered the hospital, making his way toward the surgical floor. Callen hated hospitals more than most, especially since he was shot two years ago. It felt as if it happened yesterday. The thought of entering a surgical floor with intravenous lines, oxygen masks, and the alarms of the equipment beeping unnerved him. He steeled himself against the coming onslaught of hospital odors: blood, pus, urine, and feces mixed with cleaning products and cafeteria style meals. And needles, he hated them. Callen swallowed down his nausea before it overtook him. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. He grabbed the handrail along one wall of the elevator, the memory of being shot flashed through his mind: hearing his partner yelling his name and feeling himself sliding into unconsciousness. Intense pain kept him from slipping into blackness before the paramedics arrived.

"Sir, is this your floor?" a woman asked.

Callen startled and released his white knuckled hold on the elevator's handrail. "Yeah, thanks." He strode out the door toward the nurses's station. "Here to see Sam Hanna."

"Identification, please," the nurse behind the desk said. He presented his NCIS ID to her. The petite, redheaded young woman led him to his partner's private, intensive care cubicle. He stood in the doorway, frozen in time, unable to look at his partner. "He just came back from surgery. As soon as the anesthesia wears off you can speak with him." The nurse left.

Callen stayed by the door for several more minutes before he came over to his partner's side. Still, he refused to glance at Sam's body. He pulled up a chair and sat down, keeping his distance from the hospital bed. Maybe Hetty was right, this _was_ too much. He did have issues and it wasn't with the ops. It was his own crap from his _own_ shooting. Damn it. A moan from Sam brought him back to the room. He stood and grasped his partner's right hand. Tears moistened his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I'm here, Sam." In reality though, he was as far away as he could be, stuck in the memory of his own shooting. Would he ever get over it? The man behind the shooting, Ethan Stanhope, a man he trusted, had long since been arrested and imprisoned. Yet, Callen relived the memory every time a team member got shot or came close to getting shot or if he got shot or threatened. Now his partner, the man he trusted with his life, was wounded.

"G?"

Callen jerked and opened his eyes. "Sam."

"You okay, man?"

"I should be asking you that."

"I'll live."

"Good cause I need you."

"How sweet."

"I ought to slug you, but I don't know where you've been shot."

"I'm not sure either."

"What?"

"I blacked out for a few minutes after I was shot, at least that's what the paramedics said when they found me."

"I saw the video of the shoot-out with the police." Callen released his partner's hand and stepped away from the hospital bed. "Why were you there?"

"Long story."

"And you're not talking to me?" he asked. "You holding out on me too?"

"G, it's not like that."

"Yeah, right, why are both Hetty and you so secretive about this?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well, screw this!" Callen flipped on his heels to leave.

"You're leaving?"

He left the room and bumped into Kensi and Deeks out in the hallway.

"How's he doing?"

"Fine."

"Fine? What?" Deeks asked.

"Damn it, you go talk to him, I'm through with this!"

"You need me to drive you back to headquarters?" Deeks asked.

He strode toward the elevators. Kensi came along side him. "Is this about your own shooting?"

"Stop it Kens."

"Sorry, Callen, I thought maybe you were—"

"No, enough." The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. He stayed facing the back wall until the doors closed.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated.<strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Callen strode into the bullpen and plopped down in his chair. This was ridiculous. He couldn't investigate his partner's shooting and his partner wasn't forthcoming with any information. Hetty got to his partner first. She had to talk to him. He decided to review the video from this morning again. When he got up to OPS, Hetty was there talking in a low voice to Eric. "Nell, I'd like to see the video from this morning."

"Mr. Callen, what did I tell you?"

"Hetty, I'm just reviewing the video."

"Where's your team?"

Damn, he knew what was coming. "I rented a car."

"You disobeyed my orders?"

"I came straight back here."

"What were your orders, Mr. Callen?"

"To ride with Deeks and Kensi."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"You drove, Mr. Callen, I have traffic cam videos of you driving to the hospital and running several red lights."

Crap.

"Nothing to say, must be an admission of guilt."

His eyes watered. He resisted the urge to wipe the wetness away with the back of his hand. His action would confirm Hetty's concerns about his inability to handle the ops.

"I have another assignment for you, Mr. Callen, it'll keep your mind off this one," she said. "See me in my office later this afternoon."

"Hetty, you don't understand."

"Ah, but I do and you will obey my orders this time."

Callen turned and left the OPS Center. It was obvious he wasn't going to be viewing the video of Sam's shoot-out any time soon. Crap. Now he wanted to shoot someone. He strode toward the firing range, before he reached the armory Nate stepped up to his side. "What now? Did she send you down here?"

"I heard about Sam being shot."

"Sorry, I'm just a tad defensive right now." Callen stopped outside the armory. "He's… I don't know how he's doing."

Nate glanced at him sideways.

"Damn it, I couldn't handle being at the hospital," he said. Callen trudged into the armory, grabbed safety glasses, hearing protectors, a box of ammo, and entered the firing range. He set his gun on the counter and stared at the target hanging down from the ceiling. Callen sighed long and deep.

Nate entered the firing range and leaned his upper back against a wall, arms crossed. "Callen, Hetty asked me to come and see you."

Crap. "I thought so. Why?"

"You know Hetty as well as I do."

"Yeah, she can see right through me."

"Yep, sorry, anything I can do?"

"I wish, but I don't know what's going on."

"Well, if you think of something I'm available any time." Nate left the firing range.

When the door slammed shut, Callen's eyes filled with tears. Could it be that Sam's shooting sparked this much emotion in him, because it reminded him of his own shooting and near death almost two years ago? Or could it be something else all together? Whatever it was, Callen couldn't take much more before he was pushed over the edge.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomes.<strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

With Eric's and Nell's expert surveillance, Deeks and Kensi rounded up the two remaining members of the ex-military group and arrested them. They discovered another member had died during the shoot-out. After a week of surveillance and investigating, the team failed to discover the group's association to a crime syndicate connected to G's past. The proof remained elusive.

"I give." Deeks scooted his chair back and rested his chin on his hands flattened against his desk. "We've worked this angle several times and it's a dead end."

"I agree," Kensi said.

"I'm disgusted with the ops."

"Disgusted?"

"Yeah, getting no where, maybe we need a free night to loosen our minds and bodies."

"A free night?" Kensi laughed. "What's that? Not one free moment since we've worked this ops."

"One benefit: I know you better."

"Yeah, it's a great benefit."

"And we work together better."

"Yeah."

"I wish Sam was here to help us find more answers."

"He's being discharged this afternoon."

"I think Callen could help too."

"If he stayed out of the dog house with Hetty."

"I heard that, Mr. Deeks."

"Sorry, Hetty."

"I plan to put him back in the loop as soon as Mr. Hanna is out of the hospital."

"We've reached a dead end," Kensi said.

"You need fresh minds added to the ops and you'll have them by this afternoon." Hetty sat on the sofa in the lounge area. "After this is over, we'll all need a break. You might want to review the video once more."

"That's five times in one week."

"There's something we're missing," Hetty said.

"I'll say," Deeks said, standing and stretching for a second time that morning. Deeks and Kensi climbed the stairs to OPS. "I swear, if I watch this video one more time I'm gonna go bug-eyed."

"You might look good that way."

"Either your sense of humor has improved or I'm rubbing off on you." He entered OPS Center followed by Kensi. "Hi, Eric, one more time on the video."

"Ready to go."

Deeks and Kensi leaned against the light table and watched the video.

"Wait! Stop it and back up," Kensi said. "I don't know why I didn't see that before."

"We've watched it too many times and we're bored with it."

"Slow down and back up three frames."

"Stop!" Deeks's jaw dropped. He stepped forward. "It can't be."

"But it is." Kensi came along side him and stared at the screen.

"What is it, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asked, coming along side the two of them as they stood inches from the screen.

"Can you isolate his picture?" Deeks asked, pointing to a blonde haired man with a buzz cut on the screen.

"I'll work on cleaning it up," Eric said. "The photo is fuzzy. I'll get you a print out when I'm finished."

"Thanks."

Hetty stared at the man's face. "Facial recognition, Eric?"

"Not yet."

"I don't know why we didn't see him before," Deeks said.

"Maybe because he looked too familiar?" Kensi said.

"Possibly."

"The man's a ghost, nothing so far."

"Do whatever you can to discover his identity, Eric." She leaned over his left shoulder watching him work. "If anyone can find him, it's you. Nell, help Eric find our ghost. Maybe by the time you pick up Mr. Hanna from the hospital, Mr. Deeks, we'll have some answers."

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sam checked himself out of the hospital. At least he wasn't like his partner — going against doctor's orders to sign out. Deeks and Kensi stood next to the elevator waiting for him. "How's G doing?" Sam asked.

"He's not," Deeks said.

"Very funny, man, I meant how's he doing with Hetty's assignment?"

"Pissed," Kensi said.

"I can imagine."

"Thought he'd tell Hetty where she could shove it," Deeks said. "Instead, he sucked it up and retreated to the armory."

"Every weapon?" Sam asked.

"Yep, and we've stayed clear of the firing range since Callen got the assignment."

"Don't want to be accidentally shot while he's cleaning a weapon?" Sam laughed.

"One agent being shot is enough."

"Maybe I can talk some sense into him about the assignment."

"You're brave." Kensi laughed and stepped into the elevator with her fellow agents. "He's not exactly happy that all of us have privy to this ops except him."

"I sure hope Hetty told him why it is best this way_."_ Sam adjusted the sling on his left arm and winced. The first bullet struck him near his sternum, ricocheted off the bulletproof vest. His chest was bruised from the bullet's trajectory. The second bullet blasted clean through the muscle in his upper shoulder and upper back. Even a slight movement of his left arm caused searing pain to ripple through the muscles across his shoulders and upper back. It was worth it though as the alternative was an attack on his partner's life. Better him suffer than G.

"He doesn't buy it, though, he suspects there's another reason."

It sucked, Sam couldn't tell his partner the truth either. He felt G should know about the ops, but Hetty wanted his partner kept out of the loop. Instead, everyone needed to make sure G wasn't alone outside NCIS headquarters. Sam wondered why his partner never returned to the hospital after his short visit one week ago. He planned to confront him the first chance he got. If he knew his partner like he did, it would be one volatile confrontation. Something was bothering G, but he wouldn't just come out and say it. His partner's behavior, on that day, was odd, even odd for G.

Thirty minutes later, Sam strolled into NCIS headquarters and up to Hetty's desk.

"Welcome back, Mr. Hanna." Hetty came up beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm out of the hospital," Sam said, "Where's G?"

"He's in the armory, finishing his assignment."

"When do you plan to tell him the truth about this ops?"

"You will tell him right now."

"Me?"

"Yes, I think it's best that it comes from you, Mr. Hanna."

"I'm not prepared for this."

"That's makes two of us, but he must know," she said. "And there's more information which both you and he should know."

"Since when?"

"This morning Deeks and Kensi found a missing piece."

"Okay, I'll take care of this." Sam left. He loathed what he must do next, knowing his partner would most likely become argumentative. A disagreeable G reminded him of a bear in a trap, lashing out when it needed help.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for the reviews so far and for reading my story.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Callen pretended to not notice his partner's arrival at the doorway to the armory. He dusted a heavy oak gun cabinet and prepared himself mentally for what was coming next from Sam. He hated confrontations and when the person doing it was his closest friend he hated it even more.

Sam watched his partner for a few minutes. "G?"

He glanced up from the cabinet. "Sam."

"How are you doing?"

"I should be asking you that."

"True, but—"

"I know what you're going to say," Callen said. "Why did I leave and not come back?"

"And?"

"Damn it, Sam, I'm not talking about this."

"Have you talked to Nate about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about." Callen straightened and crossed his arms.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Annoyed is a better word."

"Why?"

"Both you and Hetty won't tell me about the ops."

"Sorry, I had to keep my promises to Hetty."

"Your promises?"

"I can tell you now."

"This is crap!" Callen faced the cabinet, tears welling up in his eyes. "Where did you get shot?" He wiped the tears away with his forearm. Callen leaned against the cabinet.

"Two places, sternum bruise and upper shoulder muscles," Sam said. "If it hadn't worn a bulletproof vest, my injuries could've been worse."

"Everything all right now?" He eyed his partner's sling.

"For the most part, it will take another couple of days for a complete healing."

Callen faced his partner again, sucking on his lower lip. "I couldn't handle you getting shot."

"Sorry, I did it to protect you."

"What?"

"I needed to protect you from this ex-military group."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

"Complicated? There you go again trying to hide the truth from me!" Callen threw the dusting cloth inside the cabinet, crossed the room to the cleaning bench, and sat on a stool.

"I'm not, G, I'm trying to tell you, but you're being stubborn as usual."

"You mean, because I'm annoyed with you?"

"No, you're stubborn, you don't want to listen to what I have to say."

"It's more than that."

"Could you be any less vague?"

"Damn it, Sam, I'm this close to, crap…"

"To what, G?"

Callen slid off the stool and strode toward the exit.

"You're leaving again?"

"Screw you, Sam, and screw everything!" Callen hurried down the hallway.

# # #

"G!" He yelled and chased after him. When he caught up with his partner he found him in the gym near the lockers. "Talk to me, man, and stop running away."

This time he refused to face his partner. His emotions were too raw and he feared that he would fall apart in front of him. "When you got shot," he said, his voice quavered despite the control he thought he had over it, "my whole life stopped. I watched the video and freaked out inside. Losing you would be… intolerable to me." He shivered, tears forming in his blue eyes again. "And, crap, ever since your shooting, I've had flashbacks about mine."

"Sorry, G, why didn't you tell me or Nate or Hetty?"

"I thought, damn it, I thought I'd never have them again." Callen sighed. "I never thought for a moment your shooting would bring up so much of my own crap. You were hospitalized and you didn't need my memories on top of your stuff."

"I could handle it, G."

"No, you didn't need my burden in addition to yours."

"I did it for you."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"I took the bullets, so you wouldn't have to."

"You're not making sense."

"I infiltrated this group of ex-military men, because of their ties to you."

"How are they connected?"

"Your past in Romania, for one."

"Romania?" he asked. "That was years ago with the CIA."

"Yeah, and when I went undercover I discovered some of the Los Angeles's police force were involved and connected to this group of men."

"That's why Hetty has kept me under her pushpin thumb?"

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't tell you, she wouldn't allow me to do it."

"And now?"

"We need all hands on the table to discover who's after you and what they want."

Callen couldn't believe the turn of events, this would be a first, one of Hetty's agents investigating his own life. He couldn't wait to fill his mind with the intel on this ops.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Callen entered OPS. He was eager to see the new information on the ops and for the first time be a part of it. Callen was irked that Hetty had shut him out. Only three times in his career at NCIS had Hetty removed him from an ops. All three involved his personal life. Of course, Hetty was justified in her decision to keep him off those ops. Yet this time, it was different, his partner had been shot and he wanted to know why Sam had infiltrated the ex-military group. No one was upstairs except Eric and Nell. Odd.

Hetty strode into the room. "A word with you, Mr. Callen," she said, motioning him to come over her by curling her finger.

He stepped to within inches of his supervisor.

"You're still not on this ops."

"What?" He scowled at her. "Sam just told me—"

"You're not going with them outside of NCIS until further notice." Hetty clasped her hands behind her back.

"Then why was I told to come up here?" He stepped back from her and crossed his arms.

"I need you to view a photo," she said, "which came from the video."

The last thing he wanted was to help her with anything for this ops. He seethed within knowing she had done it again: Locked him out of the ops.

"Mr. Callen?"

"I need to finish cleaning the weapons in the armory." He turned away from her, ready to leave.

"Mr. Callen!"

"Hetty?" He kept moving toward the doors.

"I called you up here to help the team."

He stopped and didn't face her. "If I remember correctly, you just shut me down," he said, "I'm no longer on the team."

"Mr. Callen, please look at me when I'm talking to you."

He rebuffed her orders and left the OPS Center. Halfway down the stairs, Callen found Sam standing on the landing.

"G, what's going on?"

"Need to finish cleaning the armory."

"Oh, really."

"Yeah."

"Did you view the photo?"

"I'm off the ops." Callen continued down the stairs.

Sam grasped G's right forearm when he came past him. "What's going on with you, man?" He pulled his partner close to him.

"What do you mean?" He trembled within, this was too close.

"Hetty needs your help and we need your help."

"Not happening."

"What?"

"I've got work to finish."

"Hetty allowed you to leave OPS?"

"What do you mean?"

"I assume she did or you wouldn't be standing with me on the stairs."

Crap.

"Go back upstairs and take a look at that photo."

"No."

"Why are you being so damned stubborn, G?"

"I have my reasons."

"That's not an answer and you know it." He tightened the grasp on his partner's forearm. "Talk to me, G."

"You're pissing me off, Sam, now let go of my arm." He gritted his teeth together, holding back the building rage within him.

"No, talk to me, tell me why you're disobeying her orders." Callen jerked backward, hoping to free his arm from his partner's hold. Sam redoubled his efforts, pulling G closer to his side. "Listen to me," he said, lowering his voice, "don't mess this up. We need your help. Get back up there and follow through with Hetty's orders."

He swallowed hard and sucked on his lower lip. "You lied to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hetty didn't put me back on the ops."

"Hetty said she was putting you back in the loop," he said. "I assumed that meant on this ops."

"Well, you're wrong." Callen scanned the room behind Sam's back. All eyes were on them. "I need to—"

"Go upstairs, G, don't wreak any more havoc." Sam guided him up the stairs, keeping a tight rein on his partner.

"You can let go of my arm."

"After you look at the photo." He strode into OPS with G by his side.

"Ah, Mr. Callen, so good of you to join me, again."

He glared at her.

"The photo, Mr. Beale."

Callen stared at the photo. He pulled away from Sam to step closer to the screen. Within a foot of the image, he stopped, his jaw dropping. Even with the photo's lack of clarity, he recognized the man in the photo. Chills traveled up his spine.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The man on the screen appeared countless times in Callen's nightmares. He always assumed the man was a Freudian reflection of himself. Nate had alluded to that theory several times due to Callen's identity issues and lack of family: His constant need to search out and know who he was and where he came from. His need to put the pieces together. Now, right before his eyes was a man he knew well, at least in his nightmares.

"You know this man, Mr. Callen?"

"Yes and no."

"Come on, G."

"He's the man I see in my nightmares," he said, eyeing Hetty and watching her jaw drop. "The one Nate told me was part of me."

"He's a ghost, G, we've checked every database."

The man was a ghost to Callen too, never had he seen his face until now. The freaky thing, this man could be his identical twin. He studied the no longer elusive face of his nightmares. "What about intel from foreign countries?"

"That's next, G."

There was another possibility, one which terrified Callen. He didn't dare speak it out loud.

"Mr. Callen, if you have any information you need to be forthcoming."

"I don't, Hetty, it's a theory."

"You have something to share, G." Sam stepped beside him. Callen sucked on his lower lip and crossed his arms. "Come on, man, talk to us."

"I know as much as you do."

"Mr. Callen, if there's any chance you know this man's identity we need to know."

"No chance."

"That's not what I'm seeing, G."

"It's your ops, Sam, go with it."

"Go with it?" he asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"This isn't my problem."

"Isn't your problem?" Sam asked. "There's a man possibly living, working, and running around Los Angeles with your face and your identity and it's not your problem? Come on, G, that's pure crap."

"It's your ops, I'm not involved."

"You're still harping on that?"

"I'll harp on it as long as I want."

"Hetty's trying to protect you and now I can see it's absolutely necessary."

"I don't want to be protected," Callen said, "I want access to this ops."

"No, Mr. Callen, and I'm not changing my mind," she said. "Your true identity is probably burned, not to mention the threats on your life from this ex-military group and their connections."

"Sucks."

"Yes, it does, Mr. Callen, I have no choice, but to keep you hidden and protected at all costs."

Callen sighed and backed away from the screen. This was one scenario he hoped wasn't true, but one the team needed to explore.

"Mind sharing, G?"

"Nothing to share."

"Come on, man."

"Okay, I know this is gonna sound far-fetched, but what if this guy bought my face?"

"Bought your face?" Sam asked. "How?"

"The same way those terrorists—who wanted to kill all of the attendees at the Queen Mary fundraiser with sarin gas—did. If you remember, they altered their identities with plastic surgery."

"Those terrorists didn't steal identities."

"No, they had plastic surgery to alter their identities," Callen said. "The technology exists for face transplants, so why not something easier, making yourself look like someone else."

"This would mean someone breached NCIS's computer system and accessed your files."

"Eugene Keelson did and maybe, just maybe, he sold off parts of my identity before I killed him."

"I suppose it is possible, Mr. Callen."

"On the black market, you can sell anything," Callen said.

"The other possibility: this man is a relative you don't know about," Sam said.

He shivered when he heard his partner say that. Callen had a sister and that's as far as he delved into his past and family. When he discovered that one piece of information, Callen thought it was the end of any siblings he'd ever discover. The possibility this man was his twin brother shook him to the core. He didn't want to think about it any further. "That's all I know."

"What?" Sam asked him. "That's all you're saying about this?"

"I had a sister."

"And?"

"Damn it, Sam, nothing else."

"Pure, unadulterated, denial, G."

"I'm not in denial."

"Really?" Callen started for the door. Sam grabbed his forearm again, this time tighter than the last time. "Don't walk away from this."

"Release my arm."

"No, stop running from your past," Sam said. "This photo is a wake up call, G."

"A wake up call I wish I never answered." A brother? He had no memories of a brother, well, except if he counted the nightmarish dreams of the elusive man and he always chased that man, never meeting him face to face.

"What?" He sighed. "Ever since I've known you, you've searched and investigated your past and now you're turning your back on it."

"Release my arm," he said it louder this time, grinding his teeth together.

"This isn't over, not by a long shot." Sam let go of his partner's arm.

Callen left OPS.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

For the remainder of the day, Callen sulked in the armory. The last person he wanted to see was Sam and now his partner stood on the other side of the firearm cleaning bench watching him work. "You have nothing better to do?" Callen picked up a silicone cloth and started the final polish on the Glock 17 he held in his left hand.

"I love watching you work." The corners of Sam's mouth turned up.

"Right, it excites you as much as watching Eric research databases," he said.

"Actually, I came to ask you out for dinner."

"I hope you're buying."

"Yeah, I missed our date."

"You missed your date, all right." The left corner of his mouth turned upward.

"Come on, let's go."

"You get Hetty's permission to take me to dinner?"

"You're cruising, man, glad to see your sense of humor returning."

"You sure about that?" Callen placed the gun in its position in the heavy oak cabinet in the room's center.

"I hate when you're argumentative."

"Me too." He sighed and closed and locked the cabinet.

"Besides you've sulked enough for two of us."

"Now you're asking me to dunk you in a fountain."

"Which one?"

"The first one I find."

They strode toward the bullpen.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Plan to slug me?"

"No, seriously Sam, how's your shoulder?"

"Want a rematch of our wrestling match?"

"Sam, I'm serious."

"And I'm not, you need to lighten up."

"I haven't had a donut since Monday morning, you?"

"Damn, G, you're good," Sam said. "I guess this means you're lighter than you were last week."

"Yeah, but you're getting pudgy."

"I'll show you pudgy."

"Who's not working out?"

"I'll wrestle you right here in the bullpen if you want."

"A one-armed wrestler, this I got to see."

"No, more like you'll feel it, as I use every pound of muscle to nail you to the floor." Sam grabbed the car keys off his desk.

Callen pocketed his keys and ID, and holstered his gun.

"You really need your gun?"

"I guess I could leave it behind, because I have the best protection in the world."

"What's that?"

"My one-armed wrestler."

"I'll dunk _you_ first in the fountain for that one."

Hetty crossed the room and stood outside the bullpen. "Glad to see you two are making up."

"We have yet to do that, Hetty." The left side of Callen's upper lip curled upward.

"Take care of our doppelgänger agent, Mr. Hanna." Hetty strolled toward the exit.

"Doppelgänger?" Callen asked.

"That's what you are, G."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Gentlemen!" Hetty yelled from the exit. "Learn to live with it until we find your double." She laughed.

"Is this going to be the newest joke around here?"

"It'll keep you on your toes, G, and keep you laughing instead of arguing and fighting us."

"Says who?"

"Says me, G, now let's get a juicy steak."

"You mean a high-quality, thick slice of meat taken from the hindquarter of an animal?"

Sam wrapped his right arm around G's shoulders and guided him toward the exit. "Be careful what words you use to describe a doppelgänger."

"I ought to slug you."

"But you want me to pay for dinner?"

"Yeah, I'll settle for dunking you in the nearest fountain." The corners of Callen's upper lip curled upward.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

For once, Callen and Sam ate in silence at their favorite steak house. Their usual routine was conversing about the unclassified parts of their ops mission, but since they weren't on this ops together they found nothing to discuss.

Except, Sam kept eyeing him. He'd take several bites of steak, stop and glance his way. The behavior was starting to annoy Callen. He knew that was his partner's intention, annoy him enough that he'd ask what his problem was. After several rounds of Sam's behavior, Callen succumbed to his partner's request. "And?"

"Nothing," Sam said.

"You want me to share something?"

"You're awfully quiet."

"Now, if we were on the same ops we might have something to talk about."

"Back on that again?"

"Actually, I was thinking about the true meaning of doppelgänger," Callen said, smirking.

"I'll bite."

"Double walker."

"And where are you going with this, G?"

"Maybe there's just someone who looks like me and he has nothing to do with me or my family."

"You hope."

"More like I wish." He laughed. "Seriously, I've heard there's a double for every person on our planet."

"I thought you weren't into that new age, mumbo-jumbo."

"Is it new age to think there's a person who looks like me?"

"For _you_ it is," Sam said, winking.

"A cool dip in a fountain sounds good just about now."

"You know there's another meaning to the word."

"I'm not sure I want to hear your version." He took another bite of his steak and sip of beer.

"A phantom self who is a harbinger of death."

"Okay, Sam, how's that going to work," he said. "Everyone in OPS saw the guy's picture."

"A_re_ you certain?"

"I hope you're joking." Callen shot him a look. He _hoped_ everyone had seen the photo.

A moment of silence passed between the two agents, each taking several sips of beer.

Sam smiled. "Gotcha, G."

"Damn, you did."

"You may have shot me your famous 'I'll get you for that' look, but I got you thinking."

"Yeah, I'll admit it."

"The only problem with your theory, and it is a theory, is this: If this guy isn't related to you in some way, he was at least part of a threat on your life."

Callen dropped his gaze from Sam's brown eyes to the table where his steak sat half-eaten on his plate. "I hate to be the _harbinger_ of bad news, but no one has revealed this supposed threat on my life."

"That's going to cost you, G." He smiled. "_Harbinger_? There you go again latching onto little morsels."

"I love little morsels."

"You and Deeks and your little morsels."

"He's rubbed off on me."

"Yeah, I hear that."

Callen pushed his plate toward the table's center.

"Lost your appetite?"

"No, saving it for a great dessert."

"And a ten pound weight gain overnight?"

"At least I can exercise, I can't say the same for you."

"When is the last time you ran except after our suspects?"

"I run."

"Yeah, right, name one time."

"When I can't sleep, I run," Callen said. "Plus one of us needs to sober up before we get behind the wheel."

"One of us?" Sam raised his left eyebrow. "You're not driving my Challenger."

"Aw, don't want to share?"

"What do you want for dessert?"

"I could use a walk."

"What?" Sam leaned forward.

"Well, Hetty won't allow me outside NCIS headquarters without an armed bodyguard and a leash."

"So now I'm the dog walker?"

"No, the double walker." Callen smirked.

"Where's a fountain when you need one?"

"I'll have a slice of the devil's food cake." He winked at his partner.

"I guess we can both share in that delight."

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**G Callen receives a major whumping in this chapter for all you Callen whump lovers.**

**I loved torturing him too. LOL It's what I love about writing, doing as I please with my characters.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

After a leisurely dinner, which lasted over two hours, Callen and Sam climbed into the Challenger.

"Thanks for dinner, Sam, it hit the spot for me."

"You're welcome." He started the engine, exited the parking garage, and turned onto Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica.

"And the talk."

"Too bad it can't be about the ops?"

"Yeah, I still wish I was on the ops." Callen relaxed in his seat, full and satiated. "Where am I staying tonight?"

"You're staying at my place in the guest bedroom."

"Hetty's idea of extended protection?"

"She said to keep you under lock and key."

"Great." He closed his eyes. "I'll never see my bed again."

"Tired?"

"More like stupefied from a sugar rush."

"And when it wears off you'll crash."

"Can't wait." The corners of his mouth turned upward.

Sam drove toward the Pacific Coast Highway [PCH] and merged onto it heading south toward the Santa Monica Freeway.

"Since when do you use your bed?"

"Occasionally."

"Ever since I've known you, G, you haven't slept in a real bed."

"I like to be portable."

"Ah, a lightweight."

"Watch it." Callen smirked.

"Or you'll request a rematch of our wrestling?" Sam asked.

"Still harping on that?"

"Not harping."

"Yeah, right Sam, I beat you fair and square."

"You had help." Sam turned off the PCH.

"I need all the help I can get when I wrestle with you."

"This time I'll make sure Deeks isn't there."

"Aw, can't handle getting beat at your favorite sport?"

"Maybe I ought to find the nearest fountain and _drown_ you in it." He circled a block before returning to the PCH.

"Are you supposed to get those bullet holes wet?" Callen asked with a straight face.

"You're cruising."

"For a rematch—"

"Do me a favor and glance at your side view mirror?"

"What?"

"I think we're being tailed."

"Make a cleaning run?"

"Finished one, and starting the second." Sam turned off the PCH again and circled a block before coming back.

"So that's why the scenery isn't changing." Callen laughed and adjusted his position, staying low in the seat. "I see the car in question, dark blue or black suburban."

"Yeah, that's it, two cleaning runs now and we still have a tail."

"Want me to call Hetty?"

"First, take a couple of pictures without looking like you're taking them," Sam said.

"Who do you think you are Han Solo and I'm Chewbacca?" Callen asked. "Don't they get sucked inside that ship despite their evasive maneuvers?"

"I think you got the wrong part of that movie."

"Was it a movie?" He laughed.

"If I'm Han Solo, you're the doppelgänger's devilish side kick."

"Still harping on that?" Callen rolled down his window, hung his arm out just past the mirror and snapped several pictures with his iPhone. He brought the cell phone back in and viewed the photos. "Nice, got a pic of their license plate." He sent the photos to their tech. "I hope Eric's still in OPS."

"If I know Hetty, she made him stay overnight to find that man's identity."

He autodialed Eric's number. "You still at work?"

"She's a slave driver," Eric said.

"On this ops for certain," Callen said. "I just sent you three pics. One is a license plate."

"Hetty wants to know where you are."

"Huh?"

"She's monitoring all calls into NCIS."

"Great."

"He's sitting in the passenger seat next to me." Sam yelled. "We need intel on the license plate, ASAP. I finished my third cleaning run and I've still got a tail." He turned onto the PCH heading south again.

"I'm on it, Sam."

"Hey, don't get all bent out of shape over Hetty's monitoring," Sam said.

"Why not?" He reclined against the door frame.

"She's worried about you."

"I feel as if I'm trapped in a cage with a hungry lioness and I'm her dinner." Callen laughed which came out more like a snort. His cell phone buzzed in his hand. "Eric, what do you have for me?"

"I sent the intel to your in car system as well as your cell phone."

Callen scrolled down the page on his phone to read Eric's intel. Sam swerved hard left, sending the phone flying through the air. Callen grabbed it, but not without shutting it off.

"Hold on!" Sam said, pressing the gas pedal to the floor.

"How fast—"

"I don't give a crap."

Callen glanced in the rearview mirror, the car behind them was closing the distance even with Sam gunning the engine. He leaned over and watched the speedometer climb higher. Callen dialed Eric again. "We're running out of room. We need an intervention by Hetty. Some green lights would help right now, but at this point I'm certain—" A bullet narrowly missed his head. Callen flattened himself against the console and seat. The bullet hit his side of the windshield, shattering it. "We've got shots fired." He lifted his head and drew his gun, taking cover behind the seat. "Damn it, hurry Eric."

"I'm working as fast as I can."

Callen watched the lights turn green which had been red. Still, it meant whomever was chasing them had the same advantage.

"Deeks contacted LAPD."

"No!" Sam said. "Someone there is connected to that ex-military group."

"He knows and contacted a friend of his," Eric said. "ETA two minutes."

"If we make it that long, gonna run out of road soon." Callen dropped the phone and aimed his SIG-Sauer P228 out the back window. Before he could fire off a round, his body was hurled upward and backward at the same time, slamming him hard against the dashboard, as if a gigantic hand had picked him up and tossed him in the air. Callen dropped his weapon. He slumped against the dashboard, breathless.

"G!" Sam slowed the Challenger enough to make a one hundred and eighty degree turn across all six lanes of the Pacific Coast Highway and headed north. With the vehicle's forward momentum, the high speed, and his quick turn, the car fishtailed and he started to lose control. After several minutes of expert driving techniques, Sam managed to straighten the Challenger's wheels before he crashed into a cement guard rail on the right side of the road. He glanced in the rearview mirror and breathed out a sigh of relief. Their tail was gone. Sam slowed the car enough to assess his partner's condition. "G, talk to me." His sudden maneuvers had thrown his partner to the floorboard, G's legs crumpled, twisting in an odd position against the dashboard, while his body was wedged between the seat and the floor. "Say something."

"Something."

"Very funny."

"I think… crap." Callen grimaced as he disentangled his legs and extricated himself from the floorboard, pulling himself onto the seat. He shivered and grabbed his chest. "I… damn." His breaths came short and shallow.

"Look at me, G, are you hurt?"

Callen clutched his blue, long sleeve T-shirt at the mid-chest area with his left hand and shuddered. Lancinating pain ripped through his chest. Dizziness overcame him. He fell forward, bracing himself with one hand against the dashboard.

"G!" Sam eyed his partner again. G's face contorted into a grimace and his paleness told him one thing: He had been shot. "Stay with me, man, don't do this to me a second time."

"What about you?" Callen asked with slurred speech. He straightened himself, trying to catch a breath. "It's okay for you to do it to me?"

"That's it, man, keep talking." He studied his partner's face again, his pupils were dilated.

"Just keep your eyes on the road, Sam."

"Backseat driver." He took out his cell phone and dialed 911.

"You don't need to do that." He released the grip on his T-shirt and stared at his bloodied hand. "Damn it." He surveyed his chest, the blood alternated between an oozing flow and a gushing flow from the chest wound, pulsing at the beat of his heart. "Oh hell, I don't need this." A light sheen of sweat covered his face and neck. He shivered. Callen leaned against the door frame, closing his eyes.

"No, G, keep your eyes open."

"Sam, please don't, I'm tired." He opened his eyes to a squint and eyed his partner.

"You're not tired, G, you're going into shock." Tears well up in his eyes. "Keep your eyes open, look at me, stay with me, damn it, look at me."

"Oh hell, Sam, I don't need this again."

"No one needs to get shot, G, but especially you."

Callen fought the urge to vomit. His partner wouldn't like it if he hurled his dinner all over the front seat. Hell, here he was bleeding all over the front seat as it was. Bile rose to the back of his throat. He swallowed it. The bile left a peculiar aftertaste in his mouth. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Sam grabbed his briefcase behind his seat and emptied the contents on the floor. "Here, use this."

"Your favorite leather briefcase?"

"Yeah, it's okay, use it."

He grasped the briefcase's handles and held it open. "Sorry about the blood, Sam," he said. Callen hurled into the briefcase.

"Damn it, G, I'm not worried about the car, I'm worried about you."

He stared at his vomit. It was blood. All blood. Not a speck of food. "Oh hell, Sam." Callen lifted his head, blood dripping from his mouth.

"G?" Sam glanced over at his partner and saw the blood. "Not good," he said. "Where are the damned paramedics? Stay with me, man, you hear me?"

"I'm trying not to pass out, Sam, I'm trying," he said his voice weaker and quavering. He shuddered hard.

Sam turned on the heat full blast and rolled up G's window: It was a balmy night with the temperature in the mid-seventies. "You with me, man? Talk to me, G."

"I think I'd call this a doppelgänger's worst nightmare." He laughed and grimaced. "Now I'll be on Hetty's leash for weeks to come." Another surge of lancinating pain ripped through his chest. "Damn it." He bit his lower lip to stifle a scream, pressing his right hand hard into his chest, trying to stop the intense pain. "Can't do this much longer."

"You pass out on me, G, and I'll—"

"You'll what?"

"Throw you in a fountain at the nearest hospital."

"Do hospitals have fountains?"

"Yeah."

"That's not clean technique for treating gunshot wounds."

"Stop going techno freak on me, G."

"Techno freak?" He asked. "Isn't that a job for Eric?" He held back a laugh this time knowing it would hurt like hell to have his stomach and chest move at the same time. "I might sink to the bottom of the fountain with all this lead in me. And, I'll have another gun to clean," he said, sucking on his lower lip to hold back another scream. "I'm tired of cleaning weapons."

With the sound of sirens behind them, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I never thought I'd hear you tell me you don't like guns."

"I didn't say I don't like guns, I don't like cleaning them, well, at least not that many guns."

"Ah, and being shot with one?"

"I hate it, not to mention what it does to the interior of your Challenger."

"Where's _that_ fountain?" Sam said. "Your ride is here."

"I'm not going," Callen said. His partner's voice and the sirens faded in and out, a cacophony, as if a heated and warped 45 rpm vinyl record were playing. Callen's dizziness returned twofold along with intensified nausea.

"G, don't give me grief on this," he said. "Now is not the time to be argumentative."

"I'm not," Callen said, "you're not throwing me in the fountain, it's too cold to swim in one."

"I ought to slug you," Sam said.

"But I got too many bullet holes?"

"You're over the limit."

Sam pulled the Challenger over to the road's edge and stopped.

"Now you tell me there's a limit."

"Told you there was a limit when you got shot five times at once."

"You're not taking me to the hospital?" Callen asked, his speech deteriorating further. He stumbled over his words.

"The paramedics are here, G."

"Please don't leave me." His chin and lips trembled and he stuttered. Callen felt himself slip closer toward darkness.

"I'm right here, G, I'm not leaving you." He grasped his partner's left hand, holding it with both of his.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed. Thank you for reading!<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Callen struggled to remain semi-upright in the hospital bed. Doctor's orders: Sit upright in bed daily to strengthen the core muscles. He understood the reasoning behind the order, but the pain made him wait until the last possible moment to follow through. His weakened body couldn't tolerate more than thirty minutes in an upright position. Not to mention, the lancinating pain which radiated throughout his chest every time he moved. Callen held back a scream each time he repositioned himself. He wasn't about to let anyone know how bad the pain was, including his doctors and nurses. Every time the pain surged through his body it triggered a flashback of being shot in Sam's Challenger. Today, he withstood only fifteen minutes before retreating to the almost flattened position on his right side. Forget sleeping or turning to his left side, the pain it caused made his vision go white and afterward he was breathless for fifteen to twenty minutes.

Five days post op and he hadn't made the progress he'd made two years ago when five bullets riddled his body. He berated himself for being a wuss — just suck it up and stop whining he told himself. Under normal circumstances, berating himself would've worked to straighten out his head, not this time.

His first night post-op, Callen maxed out on the painkiller and his two doctors prescribed a second one to be given at the same time. He was doped up beyond reason, his mind only capable of a few rational thoughts and those just before the next bolus of the drug cocktail traveled through his veins. Only once had he known who Sam was, due to his drugged stupor. Every so often he remembered what happened to him in the car with his partner, but the memory dissipated fast, leaving him confused and frightened. Something else he refused to talk about to anyone. A scared witless, undercover ops agent was simply unacceptable.

"G?"

He heard Sam's soothing voice again. His strength zapped after his daily struggle to remain upright, Callen only moaned.

"I'm right here if you need me." He patted his partner's hand. "You're in a secure and private, intensive care unit."

This was at least the twentieth time he heard him say those exact words. He remembered the words his partner said to him just before he lost consciousness in the Challenger, 'I'm right here, G, I'm not leaving you.'

The touch of Sam's hand on his brought back the horrific memory of his shooting two years ago. He cringed and swallowed down the bile which threatened to erupt from the back of his throat. He moaned and pulled back from his touch. Callen tried to open his eyes further.

"Easy, G."

"Sam," he said, his speech slurred from the drugs.

"Don't try to talk too much."

Don't talk. His last memories before he blacked out were Sam pleading with him to talk. "Why… so weak?"

"You had serious internal injuries this time," Sam said, telling his partner the least amount of information possible.

"Damn."

"Sorry to be the _harbinger_ of bad news." The corners of Sam's lips curled upward.

"Don't make me laugh."

"Couldn't resist."

"Hetty?"

"She came here several times, making sure your room was secure and to obtain updates on your condition."

Callen smiled. At least she wasn't angry with him for his obstinate attitude and now he owed her an apology. She was right after all — he needed protection.

"You want to hear the bad news or the good news first."

"How bad is bad?"

"Funny bad."

"For who?"

"You and I."

"Crap." His mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Must be about time for your bolus."

"The doc reduced it today, says I'm too doped up."

"Ah, that's why you have more pain."

"Shoot me with the bad news."

"Poor choice of words, G." Sam chuckled at his partner's faux pas.

"Yeah, I guess that came out wrong or as Nate would say, a Freudian slip." He held back a laugh, afraid of the pain it would cause.

"Every word we said to each other got recorded."

"_Every_ word?"

"Yeah, from the moment you called Eric until the paramedics lifted you onto a gurney."

"Crap."

"You never shut off your cell phone."

"Hetty… she heard me…" He shifted his position, raising the head of the bed a few degrees. "She knows about the lioness?"

"Oh yeah."

"Crap," he said. "And the leash?"

"Yeah, that too."

"Embarrassing," he said, "serious case of foot in mouth."

"I'll agree," Sam said. "Lucky for you she's got a sense of humor."

"And Eric?"

"Nell and him played back the recording several times."

"Crap."

"And they laughed," he said, "you're blushing, G."

"You told me to keep talking." He sighed, at least that didn't cause him pain. "I was in serious pain and not fully conscious. Half the time I didn't know what I was saying."

"Sure, G, a good excuse," Sam said.

"Really, I didn't."

"What do you remember?"

"I had DOM and COB."

"What?" Sam glanced at him sideways.

"Diarrhea of the mouth, and only because you told me to keep talking to you," he said. "Constipation of the brain."

Sam laughed. "The COB fits you well, you're quiet and sedate around the team."

"Not around you though." Callen winked at him.

"I'll give you that."

"The good news?"

"Your photo intel brought us some excellent information."

"Good."

"Deeks and Kensi staked out several places connected to the intel we gathered from the license plate."

"The Challenger?"

"Don't worry about it, G."

"Your leather briefcase?"

"I can buy a new one."

"Damn."

"We can't buy a new one of you though."

Callen smirked, knowing a laugh would be the end of their chat.

"Hey, you need your beauty rest."

"You're leaving?"

"I desperately need some coffee." Sam stood, grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand and stretched.

Tears welled up in Callen's eyes. He buried his face in a pillow.

"G?"

"What?" he said without lifting his head.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Look at me."

Damn it, not this again. He remembered that phrase from his partner after the shooting. 'Look at me, G.' He tried to keep his eyes open and look at his partner, but it was near impossible. In the Challenger, he battled excruciating pain and a close to semi-conscious state.

"Pain?"

"Not of the physical variety," Callen said, facing his partner, his face wet. "I'm freaked out about you leaving. Damn it."

"There's armed guards from NCIS on your room twenty-four, seven."

He was afraid to say it, but knew he needed to ask his partner something he had overheard. "I almost died, right?"

"Yeah." Sam sat in the chair again.

"I overheard the paramedics telling you I had less than a ten percent chance of surviving."

"Yeah, you did hear that right." He sighed. "The only thing which saved your sorry ass, was our close proximity to one of the top five trauma centers in the country."

"My sorry ass?" Callen grimaced.

"Trying to make light of it, G, I need it."

"You thought I was going to die too?"

"You were vomiting blood, not a good sign."

"Thanks for telling me."

"I'm glad I didn't tell you at the time," Sam said. "You didn't need to know how serious a sign that was."

"You said, 'not good.'"

"Yeah, as you succinctly put it, I freaked out inside, seeing the blood dripping from your mouth and knowing you had just vomited up blood."

"Meaning?"

"Internal bleeding which is serious considering you were just shot in the chest."

"Are you telling me what happened?"

"When you're more alert, G, you're not ready."

"Great." He sighed again.

"Several hours with the decreased painkillers in your body and you'll be able to hear what I have to say."

"You mean without nodding off like I'm about to do right now?" He blinked his eyes several times, trying to stay awake. A battle he was losing.

"Sleep, G, don't fight it."

"You're coming back?"

"Yeah, just getting some coffee."

Callen no longer fought the sleep which was overtaking his body.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

# # #

From the moment Callen faced and scanned the vehicle tailing them, time occurred in slow motion. The first shot from the anonymous gunmen had blown in the Challenger's rear window, scattering glass over the back seat. The bullet narrowly missed his head. Callen spied a H&K PSG-1 sniper rifle poking through the shattered and partially blown out windshield of the black suburban following them. He readied his SIG-Sauer P228, aiming it out the Challenger's back window. Callen stared at the sniper rifle and the man holding and pointing it at him. The man pointing the weapon at him was the same one in his nightmarish dreams. Callen squeezed the trigger on his gun. Too late. The phantom fired off his second round. Terrified by what he was seeing, he couldn't speak. Callen watched the bullet in ultraslow motion, spinning through the air, whizzing toward his chest with pin point accuracy. No way to avoid its trajectory. He knew the weapon's capability, surviving a hit with a H&K PSG-1 at this range, less than fifty feet, with a muzzle velocity of 2820 feet per second, was impossible. The bullet hit his chest with extreme power, knocking him upwards and backwards at the same time and slamming him hard against the dashboard of the Challenger.

Callen screamed within his mind unable to scream out loud, the breath knocked out of him.

The nightmare began again, this time starting where he watched, in ultraslow motion, the bullet whizzing toward his chest.

# # #

Callen gasped, his eyes flew open and he rolled over onto his back. He yelped in pain from the abrupt movement, rubbing his chest and crying out.

"G!" Sam rushed over to his partner's side.

"I need to get away, help me." He glommed onto Sam's arms, trying to pull his upper body off the bed. Callen shrieked, excruciating pain ripping through his chest. "No!"

"Easy, G, lie back, you had another nightmare." Sam settled his partner against several pillows.

"Please, need to get away, it's coming." Callen grabbed his partner's arms again, attempting to lift himself off the bed.

"Lie back." He eased him down onto the pillows again.

"Help me, it's coming, you've got to help me," he said, his breaths coming hard and fast, sweat pouring off his face and chest.

"G, wake up, you're having a nightmare." Sam leaned over him, staring into his partner's vacant, blue eyes. "Look at me, man, this is a nightmare. You are safe."

Callen startled, shook his head, and gazed into Sam's eyes, coming out of the nightmare. "Hurts, damn it hurts." Wetness formed in his eyes. He clutched his hospital gown to the left of mid-sternum, crying out and trembling.

Sam switched on the light behind the hospital bed and saw the terrified look on his partner's face. "G, you're safe."

"No." Tears flooded his eyes. "I should've died. It should've killed me."

In that moment, he knew his partner had remembered what happened in the Challenger. "But it didn't kill you, G." He grasped his partner's hand and held it. "You are safe now."

Callen pulled away. "Damn it, Sam, I should've died." Tears fell on his cheeks. "Crap, I was a dead man." He rolled to his right side, crying, hands covering his face.

Sam lowered the bedrail, sat on the bedside, and stroked his partner's shoulders and back. "You made it, G, you survived the unthinkable."

"How many nightmares?"

"That's four today."

"My chest… can't stand this." He held back a scream and shuddered, another wave of lancinating pain ripping through his chest and traveling up and down the left side of his torso.

Sam pressed the pain medication infuse button on Callen's bedside control.

"The power and velocity of that sniper rifle… at close range… crap…," he said. "It should've killed me instantly. I remember the moment of impact, the bullet striking my chest." Callen shivered, another flashback tore through his mind. "It propelled me upwards and backwards… rammed me against the dashboard." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I should've died, damn it, how did I survive?"

"The exact point of impact was lower than you believe," he said. "Had it been a couple of inches higher and to the right, we wouldn't be talking right now. The fact that you and the sniper were both moving increased your chances of survival. The bullet traveled through the seat first, an obstacle which altered its trajectory further, then it hit you."

"So it wasn't because the unsub was a bad shot?"

"No."

"Your passenger seat was destroyed?"

"Completely," Sam said, "better the seat than you."

"The bullet?"

"Clean through you and found later at the scene by our forensic team."

"Our forensic team?"

"Kensi."

Callen smiled. "How much longer will this pain last?" He rubbed his chest where the bullet had hit him. "I don't know if I can stand it without being heavily medicated with painkillers. Feels as if someone kicked me in the chest with a steel toe, logger boot, and more than once."

"Your doctors estimate at least a month, maybe longer."

"At least?" Crap. "I can't do it, Sam, not without stronger drugs."

"You really want to go back to the drugged stupor of the last five days?"

"It's beginning to sound and feel better than this."

"You need to speak with your doctors and request a different pain medication, stronger than this one and lesser than the cocktail."

"This is not your ordinary secure and private, intensive care unit." Callen needed to change the subject and get his mind off the agonizing pain throughout his chest and the shocking reality of the attempted assassination. One unusual feature he noticed in his room, no windows at eye level. The only windows were located nine feet above the floor.

"Protection from the sniper," Sam said. "We've taken over the entire wing and a corridor is cordoned off for your safety."

"I don't see the security guards."

"Yeah, no one can get past the first check point, unless they're an approved hospital staff who's background has been throughly investigated."

"Where?"

"UCLA Medical Center."

"Who's paying for this stint?"

"Don't worry about it, G."

"I'm worried it's coming out of my hide." Callen smirked and stifled a laugh. The lingering effects of a laugh reverberated through his chest, making him want to scream.

"The humor is coming back again?"

"Maybe."

"I've gone into banter withdrawals after five days without my partner's smart-alecky remarks."

"Sam, don't make me laugh."

"I guess I won't mention our banter about the fountain."

"Please, don't," Callen said. "Guess you won't be throwing me into a fountain for a while."

"Too bad, I found a nice one here on the hospital campus."

"I'm not allowed to lift anything heavier than a tube of toothpaste." Callen winked at him.

"That's a shame," Sam said, keeping a straight face. "I'll have to put off wearing my new swim trunks."

"I can wait, believe me, I'll wait."

"That's cruel, G."

"Anyone visit me?"

"No."

"Come on, Sam, you serious?"

"No, of course Kensi and Deeks have been here, but you're always drugged out of your mind when they arrive."

"Not nice," Callen said. "Hetty gave you more days off?"

"My injury warranted that I stay with you."

"I like her."

"Until she puts you on a leash again?"

"I told you not to make me laugh." Callen smiled. "Did you push the pump and give me extra painkiller?"

"Yeah."

"That's why I'm feeling relaxed and drugged." He blinked his eyes several times and yawned.

"Don't fight it, G."

He closed his eyes and pushed away the harrowing flashbacks from his doppelgänger's failed assassination attempt.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Two weeks after the shooting, Callen sat in a chair next to his ICU bed. It took him thirty minutes to get enough courage to do it, because of the intense chest pain it caused. Another thirty minutes to transfer from the bed to the chair. After he got back into bed, Callen was exhausted and could only lay on his right side, eyes half open. Later that evening, he barely had the energy to eat dinner.

Callen missed Sam's presence: His partner no longer stayed throughout the day and night. Sam visited him everyday, they talked, and bantered and then he left.

Nightmares plagued him every night. And if it was not that, it was night terrors and waking up drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Callen relived the moment of the bullet's impact again and again. He figured he slept no more than two hours a night, causing him to doze off during the daytime. Although his sleep pattern was normal for him, his daytime naps were not. If something didn't change soon, he'd get a visit from Hetty and it wouldn't be one he'd enjoy. She always knew when something was amiss.

Today, started as usual, he sat in the chair after lunch and watched television while dozing off. Callen failed to notice the arrival of his visitor.

"Mr. Callen."

He startled, eyes opening wide. "Hetty."

"We need to talk." She pulled up a chair and sat across from her agent.

"I'm sorry for acting like I did before the shooting."

"I didn't come here to talk about that, Mr. Callen."

He swallowed hard, knowing she was here to address his current problems.

"Your doctors have informed me of your problems with sleep and nightmares."

"Normal for me—"

"Mr. Callen, please don't interrupt me."

"Hetty, I'm not sleeping any different—"

"Let me finish," she said, giving him a look. "Nate is coming to see you this afternoon."

"Hetty, I do fine talking to Sam."

"He's not here when you need to see him, because he's undercover."

"Undercover? On my… the ops?"

"Mr. Callen, enough avoiding, you will see Nate."

"Yes, Hetty."

"I expect to hear about improvements in your sleeping habits soon," she said. "One more item to address — you are due to be discharged next week. Where would you like to stay? Sam's or Deeks's home?"

"I can't go home?"

"No, Mr. Callen, you need to be protected."

"I can protect—"

"Mr. Callen," Hetty said, sighing. "If you argue the point you'll be staying with me."

"I'll keep you up at night."

"I don't care."

"Okay, I'll stay with you." He was playing with her, seeing how far he could take this.

"I'll make you follow doctor's orders."

"Sounds interesting."

"You don't think I'm capable, Mr. Callen?"

"Didn't allude that, Hetty." He crossed his arms.

"Ah, but you implied it."

"That I did."

"If you're serious about staying with me, I'm fine with it."

"Yeah, sounds appealing."

"I promise to keep you in line and on a short leash," Hetty said with a straight face.

She played her card from the shooting. Damn. Callen was happy it wasn't the 'lioness having him for dinner' card. "Being at Sam's place sounds like a nicer idea," he said. "How's he going to protect me when he's not there?"

"You'll stay at the boat house."

"With who?"

"Nate or I."

Crap. His odds of being alone lessened with each of Hetty's disclosures about the plan to keep him protected.

"Mr. Callen?"

"What can I say?"

"I know you like your privacy," she said. "I rather like you alive and well and in one solid piece. I won't keep you any longer. You need your rest before Nate arrives. And Mr. Callen, you're welcome to stay at my place."

"I might take you up on that, Hetty."

He watched her leave and decided it was time for another nap. The moment Callen's closed eyes, the nightmare began. The bullet whizzing through the air. Frozen in time and place, can't move out of its trajectory. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. His whole body jerked upon the bullet's impact with his chest, awakening him.

* * *

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**Thanks for reading my story.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Callen got comfortable in his bed and started to doze off again, when Nate sauntered into his ICU room.

"Hey, Callen."

"Nate."

He sat in the chair Hetty vacated earlier. "I'll get right to the point," he said. "Sam told me about something you said before you and he went out to dinner."

"I think I know where you're going with this," Callen said. "I told him I was losing it because of his shooting."

"Yes."

"I don't feel that way any more."

"Of course you don't, you now have your own shooting to cope with."

Damn, as always, Nate was good at detecting BS. It was as if the guy had a built in BS detector.

"This is what I think," Nate said. "I don't know if you are aware of how anniversary dates can affect you. The day Sam got shot was the anniversary date for your Venice shooting two years ago. I believe that's why you lost it when Sam got shot. I also believe it is why you're having a difficult time with your own shooting. And there's more Callen, this last shooting was an attempted assassination."

"What does an anniversary date cause?"

"It depends on the person," he said. "In your case, heightened Post Traumatic Stress Disorder [PTSD] symptoms from the first incident. Now, that is wreaking havoc with your current Acute Traumatic Stress Disorder [ATSD] symptoms from the failed assassination."

"Meaning?"

"An exacerbation of your symptoms including intensified, vivid nightmares and flashbacks."

"True, that's been happening since Sam got shot."

"Thank you for being honest with me, Callen."

"Now what happens?"

"I'd like to medicate you for the PTSD and ATSD symptoms."

"No."

"Callen, this is not a choice."

"I'm making it a choice." He crossed his arms.

"Hetty won't like it."

"Whatever we share stays within this relationship, right."

"The therapeutic one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Callen asked. He didn't like where this was going at all.

"The nurses and doctors extensively charted about your emotional and mental stress in your medical record. Hetty and I and your psychiatrist—"

"What? I don't have a psychiatrist!"

"You were assigned one the moment you were admitted to the emergency department."

"Damn it." Callen sucked on his lower lip.

"All of us are privy to your medical records, and as such, we decided to prescribe medicines to help you cope."

"No discussion on this?"

"Absolutely not, Callen," Nate said. "If you resist—"

"You'll sic Hetty on me?"

"No, you'll be admitted to the psychiatric unit for an evaluation."

"You'd do that to me, Nate?"

"No, Hetty and your psychiatrist will admit you."

"Great." He sighed. "I have no say whatsoever?"

"Callen, Hetty's orders or the psychiatrist will take over for me."

His jaw dropped.

"I need to follow orders too."

"No one ever told me I had a psychiatrist."

"I read in your records that you were informed the first night when your doctors visited you in the ICU," Nate said. "If you remember, you weren't doing well on the single painkiller prescribed."

"I'll give you that."

"Your doctors added another painkiller to help you handle your pain."

"Doctors? Wait a minute! I assumed my two doctors were—" Crap. _This whole time I thought both doctors were my personal physicians._ "They didn't tell me what type of doctors."

"And that would've made a difference to you?"

"The real reason they added drugs was to control my ATSD symptoms?" he asked. "What drugs were in the cocktail?"

Nate stood and walked over to the foot of Callen's bed. "A combination of Valium, Phenobarbital, Morphine, and Dilaudid."

Callen covered his mouth. He disliked being drugged, but especially disliked drugs being used to control him. Callen needed to be in control of his mind and body. "Why didn't someone tell me?" He asked.

"The doctors didn't need to inform you of their decisions."

"The hell they didn't." Damn it. "It's my life they're messing with. I'm the patient."

"No need to consult with you during your first five days post-op."

"Because I wasn't expected to live?"

"Callen, that's not why and you know it." Nate sat down again. "Extensive injuries and ATSD made it necessary to keep you semi-sedated."

"I'm not going through with this… plan of yours."

"This plan is a joint effort between your psychiatrist, Hetty and I," he said.

"I'm not interested."

"Then upon your discharge from the hospital, you'll be admitted to the psychiatric unit."

"I'll sign out AMA."

"If that is what you decide to do, you'll suffer the consequences for your insubordination."

"What the hell?"

"Callen, this portion of your discharge orders isn't for discussion and this _is_ part of your assignment."

"Assignment?" He clenched his fists.

"To finish healing."

"More like my assignment to get assassinated. I don't get this whole damned—" Callen closed his mouth and stared at his newest visitor.

Hetty stepped into the room, hands on her petite hips. "Mr. Callen, is there a problem?"

He swallowed hard, feeling as if something was stuck in his throat.

"Mr. Callen?"

"Hetty." Tears formed in his eyes. "I…"

"You'll follow the orders," she said. "You need something to help you cope with the nightmares and other symptoms from the attempted assassination. Why are you fighting this?"

"I don't want to be drugged too much."

"You need our help that's why I staged this intervention."

"But it doesn't help me with…" He averted his eyes, not wanting to look at Hetty and Nate and trying to regain his composure. "You don't understand," Callen said. "Those medicines won't help me with my greatest concern." Despite his attempt to maintain control over his voice, it quavered. "I hate to be a harbinger of bad news, but outside this hospital I'm a target and could get splashed at any time. Those medicines place me in a quandary. While they help manage the symptoms, they make me vulnerable to my would-be assassin."

* * *

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**Thanks for reading my story.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Callen didn't fight the discharge orders from the hospital as Nate and him had come to an agreement about the medicine he needed to take, with the stipulation the medications could be changed at Nate's discretion. He didn't like that part of the agreement, but at least he felt less drowsy without the phenobarbital at night. Callen wanted to argue the point. He backed down when Hetty showed up in the ICU at the same the discharge orders needed to be signed. He figured Nate texted Hetty for her to show up so fast and in the nick of time. At least, the psychiatrist was out of the immediate picture. He prescribed the medications which Nate dispensed and that's it.

His time at Sam's wasn't working out as he thought it would. His partner watched him like a hawk and he never had a private moment to himself, including in the guest bedroom. Maybe Hetty's place _was_ a better idea.

He yawned and stretched, not lifting his arms very high in the air, because that action brought on severe spasms in his chest muscles. The painkiller worked, but not on these oddities of pain. Callen refused to ask Nate about the possibility of getting some muscle relaxants. He imagined himself trying to shoot a weapon with muscle relaxants on top of a painkiller. In his mind's eye, he visualized the gun slipping from his hands, because he couldn't hold a weapon. Callen didn't need to be encumbered with more drugs.

Every chance he got, Callen logged onto the boat house's computer. Several days before he was discharged, he decided to go against Hetty's orders and investigate his own shooting. When she discovered his snooping, he would hear about it, but that was a small price to pay for finding his would-be assassin. Callen couldn't sit around and wait for the team to find his shooter. For now, he researched the sniper rifle the phantom used in his attempted assassination. He was thankful for the time he had spend in the armory. While he cleaned the guns, he also did some research into several weapons. He knew about the H&K PSG-1 Sniper Rifle from his military affiliation and read it was used by elite law enforcement teams. These sniper rifles weren't cheap, twelve to fifteen thousand dollars a piece. The phantom must be funded by someone. That's what he aimed to find out. After several hours, not all at once because Nate or Hetty might catch him in the act, he came upon an online site which offered to obtain the first model of the weapon for a reduced price. It was the same one Callen had seen on that fateful night almost three weeks ago. He shivered when he read the guy's description about the weapon's accuracy. _I shouldn't be here in the boat house reading about this sniper rifle. It should've killed me. _ This guy on the internet had to be illegally selling these weapons. Now Callen needed to figure out if Eric would create a backstop for him so he could contact the seller.

He heard Nate leaving the interrogation room and shut down his research. Unlike his fellow agents, Callen always cleared the cache and the history before exiting a browser. Call it paranoia, but it helped him feel secure. Although, this computer lacked the special software he used on his personal computer, which erased any trace of a search from any database and the internet.

"Hey, Callen, ready to suit up?"

"Not particularly." He dreaded this part of his day most: Suiting up in the full armor gear Hetty insisted he wear. He could move in it, but it was cumbersome. It protected him from neck to ankle. He was thankful it protected him from the unsub sniper. Sam kept joking about the full armor suit. At least his partner's banter helped Callen feel better about wearing it. And he loved that part of the relationship and he too went into withdrawals without the repartee.

Nate and Callen were about to leave the boat house.

Hetty entered followed by Sam.

"Mr. Callen."

The mien on her face made him cringe. She knew.

"A word with you in the interrogation room, Mr. Callen." She stepped up close to him.

"Why there?" He backed away.

"I wish to speak with you alone."

Damn it. "I just got my armored suit on."

"You can talk with it on, Mr. Callen, can't you?" She eyed him, giving her agent a 'I know what you've been doing look.'

"I'm not feeling well."

"Mr. Callen," Hetty said, pointing at the room, "now."

Crap. He trudged toward the interrogation room and sat in the chair with his back to the one way window.

"Is that how you're playing this?" Hetty asked.

"Playing?" He tilted his head.

"Mr. Callen, I know what you've done on the computer."

With the suit on, he couldn't cross his arms and he desperately needed to protect himself from his supervisor's wrath. Callen sucked and nibbled on his lower lip.

"I took you off the ops for a reason and I expected you to obey my orders." She sighed. "However, in this case and because the team has reached a dead end, I expect you to share what you've learned with the team."

"What?"

"You were waiting for a reprimand?"

"I deserve whatever you want to dish out, Hetty."

"I value your intel, Mr. Callen."

"Part of my intel comes from what I saw before I was shot," he said. "I couldn't and still can't get _that_ weapon out of my mind."

"It may be our only link to finding your sniper," she said. "Show me what you found."

Callen stood and lumbered back into the open area. He brought the computer back online and connected to the internet. "First off, the weapon is a H&K PSG-1 Sniper Rifle."

"Okay, G, you saw that much detail staring out the back window of my Challenger."

"The barrel was familiar," he said. "Cleaning the weapons in the armory proved to be a fruitful endeavor, I performed extensive researches on some of my favorite weapons." He typed in the website where he'd found the guy selling the weapon. "I knew when I saw the weapon what it was. A high-priced sniper rifle used by military snipers and elite law enforcement teams. Enter this odd gentleman who can obtain one for the discriminative buyer for a price," Callen said. "Maybe someone could pose as a buyer of say half a dozen weapons, have Eric do some backstopping, and obtain the intel on this guy's customers. He's an unconventional target."

"And unconventional targets require unconventional methods," Sam said.

"It looks as if you're back on the team, Mr. Callen, and—"

"You don't need to say it, Hetty, I can't go with them."

"Actually, I was going to say you might want to think about going with them."

"Hetty?"

"I obtained a different type of bulletproof vest for you," she said. "It was expensive, but someone owed me a favor. You're still convalescing, so no gallivanting around."

"Or what?"

"I'll have you for dinner, Mr. Callen," Hetty said with a straight face.

Nate and Sam glanced at each other and sniggered.

She _had_ to pull another card from the shooting.

"I guess that means no fountains for you, G."

Damn. "Too bad I can't lift more than my gun or I'd throw you in one," Callen said. "With all these holes in me, I might sink to the bottom and drown, so I'll have to agree with you, Sam."

* * *

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**Thanks for reading my story.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Muddied, greenish-grey colored clouds, much like the ones which appear before thunderstorms and torrential downpours, drifted over Los Angeles's downtown district. The sky resembled more of a late summer's evening, yet it was just after noon. With a higher than normal humidity, the air hung heavy, making it harder to breath.

In the boat house parking lot, Callen stared into the passenger's side of the Challenger. The new seat was protected with a seat cover.

"You're supposed to sit on it," Sam said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Starting with the cut and thrust already?"

"You love it, so don't deny it."

"Yeah, missed it." Callen sat down and examined every square inch of the passenger's dashboard and floorboard.

"Just picked up the Challenger from the detailer this morning."

"Sorry," he said without looking up from his inspection.

"What?"

"I know you like your car."

"I hope you're joking."

"No."

"Don't get all somber on me, G," Sam said. "Everything turned out fine, including you."

"Glad I double dosed the valium this morning."

"You serious?"

"Yeah, I want to be relaxed."

"Nate know about it?"

"Huh?"

"I wonder what he'll think of that."

"Don't know, because I'm not telling him."

"Self-medicating?"

"Need to." Callen adjusted the seatbelt again.

"With that bulletproof vest, you'll need to lay off the donuts."

"What donuts?" He asked. "I haven't seen a donut since I was hospitalized. You never even brought me one."

"Are you going to pout about it?" Sam asked. "You could've asked me to bring some."

"When I was half-baked?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, you _were_ half-baked." He started the Challenger's engine and backed out of a boat house parking space.

"Glad one of us thinks it's funny," Callen said. "Since when do you use seat covers?" He glanced at the back of Sam's seat. Same seat cover.

"Ah, you noticed my addition to the car," he said. "Body armor for seats."

"You serious?"

"Yeah, you and I need all the extra protection we can get."

"Maybe Hetty could get you a ceramic plate for your bulletproof vest too." The left corner of Callen's upper turned upward.

"I hate to be the _harbinger_ of bad news, but I'm not the target."

Callen forehead wrinkled between his eyebrows.

"Well, it's true."

"It's just that the last time you said that, bad news did come my way."

"Now you're superstitious?"

"I'm not into that new age, mumbo-jumbo stuff like you, Sam." Callen winked at him.

"Let the badinage begin…" Sam laughed. He drove to the stakeout and undercover ops location.

"How did Deeks like his alias as a shady lawyer?"

"He knew you organized the undercover ops when he saw his alias."

"I thought he'd get a kick out of it," Callen said. "And Kensi?"

"She laughed for about thirty minutes."

"That funny?"

"No," Sam said. "Seriously, she simpered, because when she sees you next time you're gonna be hurting."

Callen shot him a look.

"Well, you know she hates the name 'Fern.'"

"I know, that's why I did it."

"You're asking for trouble."

"Fern, Deeks's adorable and sexy, shady secretary, looking for some extra cash."

"You're looking for some _extra_ trouble."

Callen laughed. He was thankful for the tight bulletproof vest. It acted like a girdle around his chest, holding the muscles in place. Less spasms with it. "I hope she dressed sexy enough for that weirdo gun dealer."

"At least, she isn't dressed like a stormtrooper."

"A what?" He asked. "This vest isn't white."

"Might as well be a stormtrooper costume with that fancy, snazzy, ceramic plate inside it."

"I shouldn't have known you'd keep harping on the Han Solo character," Callen said. "He didn't get to exercise his true mission."

"His true what?"

"Rescue the princess as she screamed for help."

"Yeah, my princess didn't scream, she just sucked on and bit her lower lip," he said with a straight face.

"That is below the belt, Sam."

He laughed.

"Would you rather have me scream next time?"

"Personally, I'd rather there not be a next time."

"Me too," Callen said. "Can we stop for donuts?"

"After the stakeout and undercover ops."

"I guess I can wait that long."

"What, you didn't eat breakfast?"

"A protein shake."

"Maybe I need to make you breakfast from now on." Sam pulled into the parking lot at the La Brea Tar Pits and parked a few cars down from Deeks and Kensi.

"I could use a good cook and bottle washer." Callen smirked.

"Are we set?" Deeks asked, his voice coming through Sam's and Callen's earpieces.

Sam glanced at G and received a nod. "It's a go," Sam said, watching the two agents approach the rear of the La Brea Tar Pits Museum.

"Ever tell you how much this place gives me the creeps." Callen picked up his binoculars.

"What's not to like about dead, extinct, tarred critters?"

Callen laughed. "Now that you put it that way, this place doesn't look so creepy." He set the binoculars down and grabbed his camera, snapping photos. "But this guy is creepy."

"I do have some of your favorite snack in the glove box."

"You didn't."

"Can't touch them until after we're finished."

"Now you're torturing me," Callen said. He loved Tootsie Pops. "You know I'd rather have a donut though."

"You have a fever, G?"

"No, just hungry," he said, glancing out the side view mirror. He thought he saw a flash of something familiar in it. "Sam." He whispered.

"G?"

"He's here."

"Who?"

"The guy, damn…"

Sam eyed his partner and saw sheer terror on his face. "Where?" He glanced out his side view mirror. "Deeks, Kensi, we've got company. Callen's would-be assassin is in the parking lot, last row."

"I'm taking pictures."

"No, G, don't turn around."

"I need to get pictures."

Sam grabbed his arm. "Stay right where you are. You're protected."

"I'll take them through the side view mirror then."

"Don't move, you hear me."

"Why?"

"You're the target, remember, he wants you out of the picture."

"And I want to know who this creep is once and for all." He pointed the camera at the mirror, taking several pictures before he stopped and gasped.

"G?"

"He's on the move," he said. "He's out of his car."

"Weapon?"

"Oh hell, the… it's it… the…"

"G, you need—"

"The… I can't do this."

"Slide down in your seat," Sam said. "Put on your helmet." He handed it to his partner.

"I think he's going right past us," he said. "Maybe he thinks Deeks is me."

"Deeks and Kensi get out of there now." Sam observed the gunman, carrying a hard case and walking past their row of cars. "It's a set up." Sam grabbed the camera from G and snapped several photos.

Callen and Sam watched Deeks and Kensi dash into the museum's entrance.

"I want this bastard, Sam."

"What?" Before he could stop his partner, G bailed out of the car, his SIG-Sauer P228 drawn. "G!" Sam scrambled out of the Challenger and caught up with him. "What the hell are you doing? You're gonna get yourself killed."

"No, he's mine and I'm taking him out," he said, gritting his teeth.

Sam grasped his partner's arm and held him in place next to him. "No, besides Hetty will rip you a new one."

"Let go of me."

"We haven't planned this."

"Screw planning Sam, this bastard… damn it," he said, sucking on his lower lip and tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam scanned the park around them, making sure they were safe. "Come back to the car with me, now." He guided him back to the passenger's side and helped him sit down. "You okay?"

"No. Oh hell." He pulled the door closed and stared at the expansive green lawn stretching out before him. Sam sat in the Challenger and closed his door. "Damn it, I could've got both of us killed. Sorry, Sam, I don't know what came over me."

"Pure rage."

"We need to get Deeks and Kensi out of harm's way."

"No, I texted Hetty for backup."

"But—"

"No, G, you and I need to go back to the boat house."

"You're telling Hetty, aren't you?"

"I have to, man, have to, sorry."

"I should've never come."

"I don't agree with that," Sam said. "I think you need to speak with Nate, though."

"Maybe I just can't do this yet, Sam," Callen said, his voice sounding distant. "Maybe I'm not ready. When I thought he was going after Deeks and Kensi, I completely lost it." He opened the glove box and pulled out a Tootsie Roll. "This I can do. It's simple. It's easy. A child could do it." He stared at the cherry flavored pop, eyes wet with tears.

* * *

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	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Callen, Sam, Hetty, and Nate gathered around the conference table at the boat house, discussing the stakeout and undercover ops.

Hetty sat across from Callen, studying his face. "Mr. Callen, everything I've heard from Mr. Hanna tells me you didn't overreact during the operation."

"Feels as if I did." He stared over her shoulder, unable to look her in the face.

"You're bound to have problems arise in the field," Nate said. "If you didn't, I'd say there's something wrong with you."

"I did something you may not like," Callen said. "I took an extra Valium, because I felt shaky this morning."

"Not a problem," Nate said. "Though, I'd prefer you told me how you're feeling and we can discuss how to change your medicines to meet your needs."

He eyed Hetty. "Can I ask why the boat house is safer than NCIS headquarters?"

"Yes, you may, Mr. Callen."

"And?"

"I'm not prepared to answer that yet."

"What?" He asked. "He got inside NCIS, didn't he?"

"What are you talking about, G?"

"My would-be assassin has gained access to NCIS," he said. "He accessed everything of mine?"

Hetty rose and left the table.

"Hetty, you can tell me, I can handle it." He followed her to the exit. "Damn it, tell me the truth." Callen crossed his arms.

"I don't know if you can handle the truth." She flipped on her heels and faced him, hands clasped behind her back. "You're dealing with your doppelgänger's attempted assassination."

"Hetty, I need to know," he said.

"Mr. Callen, it's worse than you can imagine."

"How bad?"

"It is as you feared it might be."

He glanced at her sideways. "Hetty?"

"He's taken your identity, Mr. Callen."

"My identity?"

"Your face," she said. "It's obvious, as you presumed earlier, he had plastic surgery."

"Damn it." He tightened his arms across his chest.

"He's obtained some of your ID, and almost everything else."

Callen's jaw dropped. "He's taken my life," he said. "What _am_ I supposed to do now, Hetty, hide out the rest of _my_ life?"

"Has he taken my name too?"

"He's close."

"It's why the man wants you dead," Hetty said. "With you out of the picture, he can completely take over your life. Your photo intel revealed the idiosyncrasies in his facial features. He has one odd, identifying feature which you don't have, a scar across his left cheek bone. And his hair color and style is slightly off. Otherwise, he's your doppelgänger."

"I wonder why this guy wants to assume my identity," Callen asked.

"That may be something we never know, Mr. Callen."

"He's one step ahead of us," he said. "He knew we'd be at the La Brea Tar Pits Museum. What about my fingerprints and handprint?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"I suspect he'll obtain them next."

"Deeks and Kensi okay?"

"Their rescue from the museum came off without a hitch," Hetty said. "The guy wasn't after them, he wanted you."

"He thought it was me meeting with the gun dealer," Callen said.

"Yes," she said. "Because of this man's altered identity, we've set up new protocol. All agents must enter NCIS headquarters using their full handprint. NCIS's main headquarters in Washington DC and all NCIS offices are following the strict protocol for their agents."

"And this leaves me where?"

"Here and on the undercover ops to find and take down this man," she said. "Permission to use lethal force. Director Vance wants this man erased ASAP. From this point until the unsub is terminated, every team member wears the same gear as you, Mr. Callen. The gear arrives tomorrow morning. If you feel up to it, I want you back on the team as the leader. Although, I prefer you to hold back on your activity level until you're more healed."

"Thank you, Hetty, I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Whatever you need from me, please ask," Hetty said. "I want to erase this guy as much as you do."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Callen restudied the creepy gun dealer online again. No matter how many times he read about him and thought about the undercover ops, he knew it could only go one way. He loathed telling Sam what his plans were, because he knew what he'd say.

The alternatives? Callen couldn't think of one, except him being out of the picture and Sam with a new partner, one which didn't play nice. He laughed to himself thinking about the unsub becoming Sam's new partner. Although, _his_ partner wouldn't think it was funny.

His team entered the boat house with their gear in tow.

"Hey Callen," Deeks said.

"I see you got your stormtrooper outfit." The corners of his mouth turned upward.

"Now we can all wear matching outfits," Kensi said. "How sweet."

"I take it you're not one hundred percent behind this wardrobe change," Callen said.

"I'm not even ten percent behind it," she said. "You're the one who needs it not us."

"But she'll wear it," Deeks said, "if it makes Hetty happy."

Sam sauntered into the boat house wearing his new gear. "I happen to like my new outfit."

"Yeah, because you get to use the heavy artillery," Deeks said.

"It's a sniper rifle."

"Only if you know how to snipe," Kensi said.

"I can see this is gonna be a battle of skill," Callen said.

"No, a battle of persiflage," Deeks said.

"Aw, Deeks, the stupendous banterer." Callen winked at him.

"Your plan of attack, G?"

Callen avoided Sam's question and turned his attention back to the computer and conference table. Sam came along side him. "Maybe you and I—"

"Everyone should hear it at once."

"You sure, Sam?"

"I'm not liking the avoidance behavior and edginess in your voice."

"I didn't take extra Valium this morning."

"That's not what I'm hearing."

"Okay," Callen said, sitting down at the conference table. "As I see it, there's only one way to flush out our unsub."

"I'm sure you explored many methods."

"But there's only one assured method which will lure him out again and provide our team with the opportunity to erase him."

"Before you tell me, I want to see the other methods you perused."

"Sam, we're wasting valuable time rehashing this again."

"Who's valuable time?"

"Mine," Callen said. "And my aliases are at stake. The longer we wait the closer the unsub comes to getting my fingerprints and handprint."

"Callen's right, Sam," Kensi said, "waiting isn't a good idea."

"But going off half-cocked isn't either." He eyed his partner. "I want to make sure you've investigated every option."

"Every feasible and viable option."

"What's that supposed to mean, G?" Sam asked. "What aren't you sharing with me?"

"He wants me, so let's give him that."

"No way, G, that's not happening."

"I suppose you'd rather have a partner of an unknown identity, who might not like donuts and Tootsie Pops and hates raillery."

"Tootsie Pops?" Kensi asked. "Do you have any?"

"Down Kensi," Deeks said.

"I'd like a living and breathing partner, not a dead, extinct, tarred one." The corners of Sam's mouth turned up and he winked at his partner.

"That's wicked," she said.

"That's hitting _way_ below the belt, Sam."

"Well, you're telling me this choice of yours is the only way to expose him."

"We could use Deeks again, but I think he needs a buzz cut first and I doubt if he'll go for that hairstyle."

Kensi snickered.

"Don't get any ideas, _Fern_," Deeks said with a straight face.

She shot him a look.

"And what are you gonna do, G, stand out in the middle of a field and wait for him?"

"At least, I'd be outstanding in my field." Callen cracked a wry smile. "Sounds simple and more to the point than my plan."

"I ought to throw you in a fountain."

"But you know I'll sink."

"Yeah, from all those donuts you scarfed down after our undercover ops."

"Not fair, Sam, I only had two."

"Two too many."

Deeks and Kensi listened to them volley their repartee back and forth.

"You guys always like this?" Deeks asked.

"Yeah, they are," she said.

"So the recording from the car _is_ their normal partnership behavior?"

Sam and Callen stopped bantering and glanced at Deeks.

"He started it," Sam said, pointing his finger at his partner.

"And I followed his lead," Callen said, winking at him.

"Never wanting to take responsibility."

"My plan is—"

"Should we decide to accept it?" he said, giving him a look.

"I'll contact the gun dealer online and ask for another meeting."

"And you think the gun dealer will go for a repeat?"

"Yeah, because I'm not using an alias."

"No way, G, absolutely no way."

"It's the only way."

"I'm calling Hetty."

"Go right ahead." Callen crossed his arms.

"You already talked to her?" Sam sighed.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"She approves of my idea."

"She approves of your suicide?"

"Sam, this isn't suicidal," he said. "I happened to have a hand-picked, crème de la crème unit of undercover agents backing me."

* * *

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	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Sam drove the Challenger toward Los Angeles's downtown district.

Callen sucked and licked on a grape Tootsie Pop. A Sunday morning. Clear blue skies were the forecast and he hoped it stayed that way.

"You _would_ have to pick a fountain."

"Love to tease you, Sam, and this one is big enough to swim in," he said. "Did you bring your new swim trunks? Speedos?"

"There's another one nearby," Sam said. "I think I'll dunk your head in that one."

"I hate to be the _harbinger_ of bad news, but if I don't have a head when we're through with this ops you won't be able to dunk it in a fountain."

"You'd better have your head or we're not the _crème de la crème _unit you believe us to be."

"Okay, rub it in."

"Crème de la crème, come on, G, since when do you start using fancy words?"

"I did it for Deeks's sake," he said. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"I guess it was worth it."

"You guess?" Callen said. "My word, my fun."

"The last of your fun if we mess this up."

"You nervous?"

"You're damned right I am." Sam said. "You're my partner and I don't want to train a 'green' agent."

"If you and Kensi are the good shots I know you are, you won't need to train someone else."

"Where did you get this harebrained idea to be the guinea pig?"

"Guinea pig?" Callen asked. "I'm the sitting duck and you guys are the sharp shooters."

"So we're supposed to shoot you?" Sam smirked.

"That's cruel."

"You left yourself wide open for that one." He glanced out his side view mirror. "Have you been checking your mirror?"

"Yeah, no tail."

"Same here."

Callen reclined against the door frame remembering one of the last times he leaned against it, he was bleeding and close to dying. Now, morbid thoughts creeped into his mind when he rode in the Challenger. "The harebrained idea grew out of the need to force this guy out of his hiding place and into the open."

"You really think he'll show up?"

"He'd better or all this planning was for nothing."

"I'm glad you asked Hetty for the backup."

"I want the place swarming with NCIS agents, carrying loaded and readied weapons," Callen said. "She suggested SWAT and I declined considering the ops you were on."

"Excellent move, G."

He closed his eyes for a few moments, pushing away his disturbing thoughts. Sam always said he was a worrisome guy. Callen was beginning to believe it was true too. Now, he was placing himself in a precarious position with his would-be assassin. Maybe Sam was right, this was a harebrained idea.

"G?" Sam drove onto the walkway which connected to the main concourse between two buildings.

"Huh?"

"We're here, ready?" Sam asked. "I suggest you don't wear the helmet."

"Really?"

"Yeah, trust me."

Callen took out his gun and checked it.

"Talk about being nervous."

"Okay, I am, I'll admit it, you happy?"

"That's three times since we got up this morning."

"I know, I'm counting them too," he said. "Maybe I should've taken that extra dose of Valium as Nate suggested."

"We can always back out of this, if you don't feel right about it," Sam said.

"I'm gun shy, more specifically, sniper shy, that's all." Callen scanned the concourse between the two municipal buildings at the corner of 1st Street and Grand Avenue. Many places for the unsub to hide, but more places for Kensi to pick him off with her expert sniping skill. "Kensi?"

"Yes, Callen, ready and in position."

"Deeks?"

"Loaded and ready."

Kensi was positioned on the Temple Street building, while Deeks was perched on the building across the concourse from her. Their Remington 770s aimed at the fountain's southeast end.

"I've got your back, G."

Callen opened the Challenger's door.

"Remember to keep cover under the municipal building's walkway until you're across from the fountain."

He hunkered down close to the ground and inched his way toward the covered walkway. With every noise, he scanned 360 degrees, checking the immediate area to make sure the unsub wasn't following him.

Sam left the Challenger with his Glock 19 drawn and ready and a Remington 770 over his shoulder. He kept low and headed toward the opposite end of the concourse, circling around to the southwest side of the fountain and taking cover in the trees.

Under the covered walkway, Callen straightened and hurried along, gun drawn and ready, until he reached the end of it across from the fountain. His next move took him out in the open without the protection of a building. He scanned the concourse, searching for the gun dealer he was supposed to meet. Callen grabbed his binoculars and surveyed the area bordering the fountain. He spotted him next to the fountain's southeast edge, sitting on the wall surrounding the water feature. "I'm moving out into the open," Callen said to Sam, Kensi, and Deeks. At least there were trees to use as covering, still he felt exposed as he darted around trees and bushes between the building and the fountain. Closer to the gun dealer, he slowed down, scanned the area around the fountain and strode out into the open. Within ten feet of his target, he froze. He aimed his SIG-Sauer P228 and edged closer.

The man rose off the wall and faced him.

"Crap." Callen stared into the face of his doppelgänger.

* * *

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	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Sam, Kensi, and Deeks stared through their binoculars at the unsub, who now stood less than six feet from their team leader.

"Kensi, hold your fire," Sam said, "wait until he gives the word."

Over five minutes had passed without Callen making a move or saying a word.

"What's he waiting for?" Deeks asked.

"Maybe he cut off the communications through the earpiece," Sam said.

"Camera is still working," Eric said, joining in on the conversation from the OPS Center at headquarters. "He's not responding to the earpiece."

"Damn it, G, say or do something." Sam sighed. "You're beginning to worry me, man."

"What do you want with my identity?" Callen asked.

"Phew, that was too close," Kensi said.

"I don't want your identity," the unsub said, "I want your life."

"Same thing." From the moment the unsub opened his mouth, Callen was transfixed by the odd tonal quality of the man's voice.

"No."

Callen held his gun steady on the unsub. "What are your plans?"

"To gain access to areas in the federal government where I can obtain data for my pet project."

"What makes you believe I'll give up my life for your ludicrous, pet project?"

"You met me here like this."

"You only assumed it was me."

"No, I followed you from the boat house," the unsub said. "I knew it was you, when I saw you get into the black Challenger's passenger side."

Callen kept his composure, not allowing the man to see his shock.

"Damn, he's good," Deeks said. "Cool, calm, and relaxed."

"A natural," Sam said.

"I'm monitoring every branch and office of NCIS." He removed an iPad from his bulletproof vest. "You left the boat house at—"

"I don't care what you're doing and how you've monitored us—"

"No, monitored you, Mr. G. Callen, I don't care about anyone else," he said. "I know everything you're doing at every moment."

"And that proves what?"

"Proves I could take you down any time I wish."

"So why haven't you?"

"I have a pneumatic syringe aimed at your right femoral artery," he said. "If I fire my specialized weapon, you'll be both poisoned to death and bleed out in a matter of minutes."

"And you haven't fired the weapon because?"

"I need access to something you have and I don't want it marred from the poison."

"Poison can mar—"

"Stuff it, Mr. G. Callen, I'm not interested in your theories and curiosities," he said. "You will walk with me toward my car without further incident."

"And if I refuse?"

"I have other remedies which will make you compliant."

"Why isn't he using his safe word?" Deeks asked.

"I'm not sure," Sam said.

"What might those be?" Callen asked.

"Look Mr. G. Callen, don't fight this and you'll make my life much simpler."

"You expect me to just lie down and stop fighting?"

"I had hoped."

"What is this pet project?"

"That's not part of our conversation, Mr. G. Callen, move it."

"Which way?"

"Toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion."

"You don't care about my weapon?" Callen strode northward, staying close to the fountain. He holstered his gun.

"He just holstered his weapon," Deeks said.

"Not good," Kensi said.

"Maybe he has a plan," Sam said.

"Your gun is useless soon, don't care one way or another."

"Ever swim in this fountain?"

"What?" The unsub asked.

"Take a swim in it?"

"It's not for swimming."

"It's not?"

"Where's he going with this conversation?" Deeks asked.

"Knowing, G, as I do, it is probably a classic case of misdirection."

"It's a centerpiece."

"A centerpiece?" Callen asked. "A focal point for what?"

"What are you talking about?" The unsub slowed his pace.

"The focus of attention for what?" Callen stopped walking toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

"For the park, which they're developing."

"Who's developing the park?"

"The Los Angeles Grand Avenue Authority."

"What's the name of the park?"

"The Los Angeles Civic Center Park."

"Will they allow swimming in the fountain when the park is finished?" he asked.

The unsub stopped walking and glanced at him sideways. It was the same sideways glance Callen gave Sam at times, when his partner had exasperated him with his repartee. It was all the distraction he needed. Callen rammed his body hard into the unsub, sending him flying backwards over the wall which surrounded the fountain. The man landed in the water face up. Callen jumped into the fountain and pounced on the unsub, punching and kicking him. After pummeling the unsub for several minutes, he grabbed his SIG-Sauer P228 and squeezed the trigger, aiming the gun at the man's head.

"Say goodbye to your special, pet project."

"First, you say goodbye to your life."

Callen glanced down at the man's right hand. Before the unsub could fire off the gun-shaped, pneumatic syringe, he fired his SIG-Sauer P228 at near point blank range, hitting the unsub's forehead between the eyebrows. Blood spattered across Callen's cheeks and hair.

"Bastard!" The word came out garbled, the unsub's head falling backward into the water.

"Likewise, and consider yourself doppelgänged up on." Callen laughed and pried the specialized syringe from his now dead, would-be assassin's hand and set it on the wall.

"Consider yourself doppelgänged up on?" Deeks asked. "Sounds like something I'd come up with."

"Is that a word?" Kensi asked.

"It is now," Sam said. He rushed over to his partner. "You okay?"

"Yeah, relieved," he said.

Sam offered G a hand out of the fountain. Callen grabbed it and pulled his partner into the fountain with him. They landed on their backs, their bodies submerged underwater.

"Finally, I got you," Callen said.

"And ruined Hetty's button camera."

"She'll probably take it out of my hide."

"Or put you on a short leash and have you for dinner," he said, smacking his lips.

"Not nice, Sam, not a nice picture at all."

"Now, I owe you one dunk in a fountain."

"Promises," Callen said. "What about the head dunk?"

"I'll fulfill your wish right now if you want," Sam said. "The fountain is just around the corner."

"I'll take a rain check on that." He laughed.

"You feeling good, G?"

"Yeah, got the doppelgänger out of my life," he said, the corners of his mouth turning upward. "And I took a dip in a fountain with my partner. Two goals achieved in one day, and both before noon."

* * *

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**Thanks for reading my story.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Callen strode into NCIS Headquarters. It was the first time he'd seen the bullpen in almost five weeks. He was about to sit down in his chair when Eric whistled. Callen climbed the stairs to OPS and found everyone already assembled in the room.

"Welcome back, Mr. Callen."

"Sorry, I'm late, Hetty, I actually overslept."

"You probably needed the rest after you were out gallivanting around downtown LA." The corners of Sam's mouth turned upward.

"What?"

"Didn't you receive express orders from Hetty to not gallivant around LA?" Sam asked.

"Under the circumstances, it couldn't be helped."

"You could've given the word, and Kensi or Deeks or I would've come to your rescue and terminated the unsub."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You do _love_ those fountains." Sam snickered.

"For once, I got a good night sleep and slept in my bed." Callen changed the subject, not wanting to hear Hetty's wrath about his foray into active duty, when he was supposed to be in standby mode only. Not to mention her wrath over the ruined button camera.

"The one on the floor?"

"No, the one with the mattress and frame."

"Sheets and a blanket?"

"Sam!"

"You got proof, G?"

"Should I get a note from my doctor?" Callen asked.

"Maybe get an affidavit from Nate stating you slept in a _real_ bed," Sam said. "You seem to sleep better after gallivanting around the neighborhood."

"Swimming in fountains helps too." He winked at him.

Hetty eyed her two agents waiting for the daily banter to subside.

"Mr. Callen, I have some fascinating information about your doppelgänger."

"I hoped I'd never hear that word again," he said.

"He was a she."

His jaw dropped. "I knew something was odd about the voice," Callen said. "Maybe this explains why she never fought back against the pummeling I gave her. Identity?"

"I'm still searching to discover her true identity," Eric said. "Going through foreign intel as we speak."

"Romanian, isn't she?"

"How did you know, Mr. Callen?"

"A slight accent."

"Turns out too, it wasn't plastic surgery as we thought," Hetty said, signaling Eric to place several photos on the screen.

"Someone's got talent and created a mask of your face for her to wear," Sam said.

"A special voice box was used to alter her tonal quality, enabling her to sound more like a young man than a young woman," Eric said.

"I wonder how someone made a mask of my face," Callen said.

"Ever have a facial, Mr. Callen?"

"I've never been to a spa where they do facials."

"That rules that out," Nell said.

"There's only a handful of people in the movie industry who have that capability," Callen said. "Maybe that's a job for Nell?"

"I'm on it, Callen," she said.

"Did our team find her Suburban?"

"Impounded and they're working it over, Mr. Callen," Hetty said. "Here's one thing they found in it." The image was displayed on the screen.

"Duplicates handprints," he said. "That's the last part of my identity she wanted. I wonder why she didn't pursue the iris scan?"

"Maybe she didn't need it for her pet project, G."

"I'd sure like to know what her special pet project was and how it involved me." Callen sighed. "This is one of those ops which leaves more questions unanswered than answered."

"Eventually, Mr. Callen, those answers will surface."

"What about the contents of the pneumatic syringe?" he asked. "Poison?"

"Yes, the most deadly poison known to man, botulin, and enough to kill thousands of people," Hetty said.

"That's overkill."

"Maybe that was her intent, G, kill more than you?"

"No, she had a serious affliction with me, wanting to see me suffer and die a horrible death," Callen said. "At least that's what she emphasized. Was there a knife blade in that weapon?"

"Forensics failed to find one."

"She said it would cause me to bleed to death," he said. "Not an effect of botulin, another unsolved mystery."

"Well, Mr. Callen, until we find more information, this undercover ops is finished," she said. "Congratulations on a job well done."

"And your button camera?"

"Don't worry about it, Director Vance promised to buy several more for our unit." Her hands clasped behind her back. "He's pleased to see the unsub doppelgänged, his exact words, and you back in the driver's seat."

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><p><strong>The end.<strong>

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated and welcomed.<strong>

**Thanks for reading my story.**


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